


Dark Side of the Moon

by tikistitch



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, M/M, and carlos has a pet butterfly-bat, cecil rides a motorcycle, i'm not sure why but he does
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-27
Packaged: 2018-01-20 04:04:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1495942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tikistitch/pseuds/tikistitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos Ortega y Gasset is a young Strex Corp scientist involved in terraforming a new world, the moon of Hecate.  There’s just one rule out here on the edge of the galaxy: don’t mix with the locals.  But things go slightly askew when Carlos befriends a rogue DJ broadcasting from the mysterious Dark Side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The names Trurl and Klapaucius are taken from Stanislaw Lem’s Cyberiad stories. Carlos's surname is taken from the Spanish philosopher. This one was somewhat inspired by the classic film, Silent Running, although it soon takes off in its own direction, as my fics tend to do.

“You’re tuned to Space Pirate Radio, 66.7 on your FM dial. From deep in the heart of the Dark Side, welcome to Night Vale, a friendly community where the twin suns often shine down, though none may know their purpose. And you were saying, Josie?”

“The angels, they appeared to me!”

Cecil grinned and swiveled around in his chair, reaching out a hand to scratch the head of the one-eyed cat that crouched on his mixing board, switching its tail. “And what message did they have for all of us?”

The old woman’s voice crackled through the void that was space, waves of electricity spinning in darkness. “Well, I don’t know about any messages. They helped me swap out a fuse on my electrical barrier fence!”

“Well, isn’t that nice!” Khoshekh, the cyclopean cat, stretched out the elastic vertebrae in its back and emitted a strange, off-key purr.

“I kept the old fuse, in case any of your listeners are interested. It’s been touched by an angel! Red wings, it had: red like a traffic accident.”

“Thank you, Josie!” said Cecil, hitting a button and swiveling again. “And there you have it, listeners! A burnt out fuse that’s been touched by an angel. Available from Josie, out by the standing stones.”

“And now an update on the afternoon meteor shower. Well, silly me! It’s not a meteor shower at all, but rather another attack by StrexCorp Synernist Inc., aimed at this very station. Looks like we’ll have to sign off a little early today. I sure hope the carnage will be minor this time, but do try to find something to hide behind in order to avoid flying shrapnel. And also, an update on our community calendar: the PTA meeting will begin fifteen minutes later than usual, in order to allow parents who are Eternal Scout leaders time to shuttle over from the annual burning of the effigies. Good night, Dark Side, good night!” 

And so saying, Cecil snapped a number of switches on his mixing board and then, heaving a contented sigh and doffing his headphones, stood up and cracked his back. He nudged up his glasses and gazed out the window. “Come, Khoshekh!” he urged, sticking out an arm. The being that somewhat resembled a feline launched itself onto his shoulder. Cecil picked up a folder of papers and, humming softly to himself, ambled out of his booth and down the hallway, passing by an assortment of posters advertising community happenings and local theatrical productions. He paused to poke around inside a Hamm’s beer ashtray full of marbles and rubber bands and paper clips that was sitting on a small table just inside the door. Khoshekh dropped down to the table, squinting at Cecil as he plucked a key from the dish. Cecil shouldered into the coat that was hanging on a hook by the door. He let himself out as the cat streaked through the door, and turned and carefully locked the station door after himself. 

The sky was twilight-lit, as it always was in these parts. Cecil gazed upwards, at the ringed planet that tilted in the sky like an out of control gyroscope, and into the rich blue-black void beyond. There were several new stars up in the darkness. But, as he knew, they weren’t stars at all. 

There was a hoverbike standing in the parking lot. Cecil mounted it and gave a low whistle. Khoshekh streaked out of the darkness, perching on the seat behind him. “Ready to go?” he asked the cat as he snapped on his helmet. Khoshekh emitted a lonely, hollow echo of a meow. Cecil revved the bike, and it answered with a low purr of its engine. Somewhere in the distance, sirens screamed.

Almost as an afterthought, he pulled a small remote control from his jacket pocket. Aiming it at the station, he clicked a button, and the ground began to rumble. He revved the bike once again and then streaked off. 

He had barely reached the edge of the parking lot when the station began to blow, and soon it was utterly consumed in a bright orange fireball. Cecil felt the heat on his back, and heard the familiar scream of the approaching guided missiles as they re-entered the atmosphere. The explosion was certain to interfere with their tracking systems, so it was best to get clear. 

The bike ascended a hill, and Cecil paused at an overlook to watch the sleek, shiny transports labeled StrexCorp Synernist Inc. glide up to the charred remains of the makeshift radio station. They would try calling off the missiles now, although they would be nearing the fail-safe point, so it was always possible that one or two would get through. As they were small, tactical devices, the damage would not be catastrophic, but it would be potentially amusing. Indeed, as Cecil hovered up on the hill there was a sharp scream accompanied by a small explosion. One of the transports, its compression device gone, quite suddenly puffed up like a container of Jiffy Pop popcorn, and then collapsed in a heap, causing rather a lot of frantic shouting and running around by the StrexCorp workers, fat like doughboys, stumbling around the area in their isolation suits.

“Popcorn! Are you up for a movie?” asked Cecil. Khoshekh mewled, and Cecil turned, piloting his bike over the hill and out of sight and sound of the chaos below.

 

Carlos plucked out his earpods. “Do you suppose the radio station was actually destroyed?” he asked.

Trurl and Klapaucius glanced at each other, grinning wide. “Carlos, the first rule is, don’t mix with the locals,” drawled Trurl, because that’s what they always said.

“You don’t listen to Cecil’s radio broadcast?” asked Carlos. “He lives on the Dark Side, and it’s quite engaging.”

“He _claims_ he lives on the Dark Side,” chuckled Klapaucius, as the two brawny workmen strolled along with Carlos towards the edge of the dome that enclosed this part of the Light Side StrexCorp base. “Who can tell? Those guys are insane.”

Trurl grunted and began opening the sack that contained Carlos’s isolation suit. Carlos grumbled under his breath. He was generally an optimistic sort of person, but he hated donning the suit. However, rules were rules. “Is this where you sighted it?” he asked as he kicked off his shoes and stood barefooted on the slick tarp that lined the bottom of the enclosure. He really didn’t want to try walking too far in the suit. When you tripped and fell over in one of those things it was like being a turtle on its back. Nothing to do but wait for a rescue, which could be hours. He really had no idea how workmen like Trurl and Klapaucius performed their duties swaddled up in the thing. 

“Somewhere around there,” said Klapaucius, waving a hand over towards a hillside. “Wasn’t in the logs, so I expected you’d want to nab one, doc.”

Carlos nodded grimly, his hand on Trurl’s shoulder as the StrexCorp worker helped him slip into the bottom half of the suit. Then he wrestled on the sleeves, extending his hands into the clumsy gloves. Trurl zipped up the back as Klapaucius fixed on the helmet. Carlos checked that the respirator was functioning, and then, giving Trurl and Klapaucius a clumsy high sign, grabbed his pack and waddled to the air lock. They shut the door after him, and he hit the button, and the door to the outside world slipped open.

His respirator humming in his ear, and being careful of the slippery soles of his boots, Carlos stepped outside. He saw from the ripples in the grass and flickering of the tree leaves that there was a soft breeze today, and he immediately regretted that the face mask prevented him from feeling the wind brushing his face. 

Hecate was a moon circling a gas giant (a planet so nondescript that no one had bothered to come up with a name, it just had a catalog number) which in turn circled a binary star system out towards one of the spiral arms of the Milky Way galaxy. The moon was grasped in a tidal lock by the great, farting planet’s field of gravity, and thus had only ever showed one side, the Light Side, to inquiring astronomers. The other side, forever facing the parent planet, had been dubbed the Dark Side, though it was exposed to light in a somewhat irregular pattern in its rotation around the twin suns. 

How such an eccentric configuration of celestial bodies had ever led to the genesis of life was one of the questions Carlos, as the scientist on this expedition, was now tasked to answer. He worked in haste now that the planet was in the middle of StrexCorp’s newest terraforming project. It seemed that many of the native flora and fauna were potentially vulnerable to the newly formed, human-friendly environment, so it was now a race against the clock to preserve and catalog any potentially scientifically interesting species. Truth be told, “scientifically interesting,” in StrexCorp’s somewhat twisted parlance, amounted to, “species that could potentially make money for Strex.” But Carlos tended to interpret the phrase in the broadest possible sense.

There wasn’t a lot of terraforming work to be done here, actually, at least according to what he’d gleaned from the gossip of Trurl and Klapaucius. The planet had a constitution that was nearly identical to that of earth: a nitrogen-rich atmosphere, untold gallons of water in its liquid state, and a planetary core that was seeped with metals. There were, however, some sort of unnamed contaminants present. Carlos wasn’t certain as to their exact identity, as that particular report was sealed and marked as proprietary information, but that was the reason for his confinement inside the ridiculous isolation suit.

He waddled down a dry wash, gazing wistfully at the beauty that surrounded him. He couldn’t feel the rocks beneath his feet through the heavy boots and the smells were occluded by the respirator, which also dampened his hearing. 

Glimpsing a small flash out of the corner of his eye, he stood stock still, wondering if it was just an artifact of his visor. He slowly turned to glance at the low hillside beside him, and that’s when he saw them. They resembled bright butterflies, wings dappled with every color of the rainbow. They were larger than any earth species he had encountered, more the size of small bats. He turned slowly to the right. One had alit on his shoulder, and now studied him with bright, intelligent eyes. These weren’t insects, but he wasn’t precisely certain what they were. Then just as quickly, it flitted back to the hillside, and Carlos literally sighed with disappointment. 

“Get a recording,” he told himself. Awkwardly he crouched down, dropping his pack to the ground and unzipping it with clumsy, gloved hands. He set down a small specimen case with some disappointment: there was not a chance he could catch one of these fleet little animals. Instead he picked up a meter and began to take readings of the environment. Fortunately, the flock remained where they were, picking among the flowering plants, so Carlos had time to calibrate his instruments – it was a slow task with the awkward gloves – and take many readings. He was so involved in his work that he at first didn’t see the shadow that passed over the ground. 

There was a shriek, and then a flash of wings as a larger creature – it seemed some cross between a shrike and a vacuum cleaner – swooped down upon the little flittering creatures. The flock rose and as one soared away. Except for one: a purplish specimen that got separated from the rest. The vacuum cleaner bird turned and pursued the purple creature, which was hampered by an injured wing. 

Carlos, who really should have been observing all of this with a scientist’s disinterest, found himself scrabbling for a stone, and then hurling it at the larger bird thing. “Get away!” he hollered. The bird of prey cawed at him, arched its wings, and flew off. He scanned up and down the hillside for the injured creature it had been pursuing, and finally glimpsed it, hidden up in a crevice between two rocks. 

He hesitated. He really didn’t care for heights, and climbing was an even dodgier proposition, given the slippery-soled boots on his isolation suit. But he steeled himself and, slowly but surely, trudged upwards to where he had glimpsed a flash of wing. Yes, there it was, still hiding between the rocks. He glanced back over his shoulder. It was a long way down, but this was for science. Awkwardly, and hearing the suit squeak, he crouched down to be at eye level with the frightened being.

“Hey, are you all right?” he asked it, though well aware that not only was it incapable of speech, it was almost certainly not sentient. “Are you injured?” he asked. But he could see the answer. As the little creature cowered from him, shivering, he saw the ragged edge of one frail wing. “You’re hurt. Can I help you?” He stuck out a gloved hand, but the creature only retreated. Carlos withdrew, frowning. It was terrified of the bulky isolation suit.

Cursing in frustration, he looked at his gloved hand: it resembled less a human hand than some kind of ridiculous cartoon character. “Look, this isn’t me,” he told the creature. “Let me show you.” He tugged at the fasteners at his wrist and, in an instant, the glove was off, and he was extending a dark, long-fingered hand towards the creature. “You see? This is me.” And then, to Carlos’s surprise and delight, the creature ventured forward. It extended a pair of delicate antennae, lightly touching his hand. Carlos grinned: it tickled! But he was very careful to keep still. 

And then the creature had hopped onto the back of his hand. It stared up at him, its eyes wide.

“Let me see your wing,” said Carlos, who slowly moved his head to get a better look. Almost as if it understood, the wings extended. Carlos leaned in closer. Yes, the poor thing had definitely injured its frail wing. He glanced around, but the rest of the flock was nowhere to be seen. He wasn't at all certain the poor thing could survive on its own.

“I have an idea!” he told it. Carefully, picking his way among the rocks, he carried the creature down the hillside, and then lowered his bare hand, allowing the creature to step off onto a rock. He picked up his pack and emptied it out. He brought the pack over and showed it to his new friend. “See? You’ll ride back with me, and you can make a recovery. And then I will bring you back out here, so you may rejoin your flock.”

The creature blinked as if uncertain, and then hopped into the pack. Carlos let it thoroughly explore the inside, feeling it with sensitive antennae. “All right in there?” he asked. “I’m going to put the top on now. We have to get back, the filter is probably running out in my respirator.” He fixed the top closed and then carefully hoisting the pack once again to his back while awkwardly carrying the rest of his equipment with his bare hand, made his way back to the airlock.

“What’s the deal?” asked Trurl as Carlos emerged from the inside door, and Klapaucius hoisted off his helmet.

“Oh, had a little problem with my glove,” said Carlos, flexing the fingers of his obviously bare hand. “Um, nothing major. We could probably give it a little scrub….” He trailed off. Trurl and Klapaucius were grinning at each other.

“Decontamination!” shouted Klapaucius, as each of them grabbed him under an arm and began to drag him away.

 

“Great news, listeners! We’ve already found a new home for our pirate radio program, thanks to the generosity of the Darkside Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex. By the way, why not come down for the bowling league? Teddy Williams, the general manager, has just bred a whole new crop of snapping turtles and for a limited time, they’ll supply the electrified fences. Bowling has never been more fun!”

Cecil took a sip from the plastic cup of beer sitting at his side. Usually he confined himself to coffee during his broadcasts, but OId Woman Josie had offered it to him, and it seemed churlish to refuse. He watched another bowler run screaming from the army of snapping turtles after a 7-10 split, and gave Khoshekh a scratch behind the ears. The cat had tucked himself into one of the shoe nooks to take a nap. 

“And now, the news. Strange happenings today over on the other side! It looks like that StrexCorp contingent, which has so far confined its activities to our cross-moon rivals, Light Side Bluffs-“ And here there were several drunken calls of “Boo!” from around the bowling alley, accompanied by the normal sounds of bowls rolling, pins falling, and snapping turtles on the rampage. “-but a little bird tells me that a contingent is headed our way. Let’s show them the usual Dark Side hospitality, though perhaps we could be a little less enthusiastic than last time, as the City Council is still cleaning up the remains.”

“And now traffic!” Cecil took another long sip of beer. “Imagine you’re traveling in another dimension, not of sight and sound, but mostly made of peanut butter and dandelions….”

 

Carlos huddled under a blanket in his quarters, shivering and sipping some hot tea.

His skin had been scrubbed raw in the decontamination shower. He suspected Trurl and Klapaucius actually enjoyed themselves with the ritual, as they never seemed more gleeful than when they were stripping him down or rubbing sterilizing soap over his body with the rough brushes. But now he was still dripping wet and chilled to the bone.

He heard a dull tapping sound and looked over to his pack, which had been dumped in the corner and forgotten. All at once, he remembered his small passenger. Wrapping the blanket around him, he leapt up and raced over to the pack, unzipping the top. There was a flash of purple, and the creature flop-flew out of the bag, alighting with no small effort on Carlos’s extended hand, where it stood, glaring at him. 

“I’m really sorry!” said Carlos. “I had to go shower, and I forgot!” It occurred to him of course that he really shouldn’t have a native creature loose in his room, but he felt ashamed of confining it for such a long time. He decided, perhaps foolishly, that no one would need to find out. 

Without ado, the creature crawled up his outstretched arm and peered at his face. “Oh!” he said. “This is the real me! I was wearing a face mask. It was a suit. But his is me!” He patted his face. He was subjected to a thorough examination by the antennae, and then it crawled through his hair, all the way over his head, which left Carlos giggling, as it tickled. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror: he looked like he was wearing a ridiculous purple bow in his hair! This just got him laughing more, which cause the creature to crawl down and stare again. “I’m just laughing,” he explained. To his surprise, it tilted its head, opened its mouth, and emitted a funny, high-pitched grunting sound.

“You're imitating me!” said Carlos, who was now tickled in a quite different way. “You must be something like a mocking bird! I’m going to call you Mimidae! Would you like that?” The creature fluttered its soft wings, which Carlos took as assent. Although he realized it was probably a bad idea to name a scientific specimen, he figured they were sharing close quarters, and he had already gotten into the habit of talking to it. Probably nothing more than the human tendency to anthropomorphize, he reflected. “All right, Mimidae it is. And I’m Carlos.” He gave a formal little bow, as he had never properly met an alien species before, so he supposed this was a special occasion. 

“It’s a little stuffy in here. I’m sorry about that. But I have a place you might like!” He raised a finger to his lips for silence and, gathering the blanket around his shoulders, went to open the back door of his quarters, making certain that no one else was around. No one else ever visited, but he felt he should be careful.

Smiling, he threw open the door and proceeded out. Carlos’s quarters opened onto a large space he liked to call his garden. It was more properly the specimen room. Here all the plant samples he had so painstakingly collected were arrayed, after they had been decontaminated of course! There was actual soil on the floor, and although it was of course not open to the actual atmosphere, the dome overhead was transparent, so there was the real illusion of the suns beaming down. 

“The animals are quartered separately,” Carlos told his new friend. “Of course, with the flora and fauna of this planet, it’s sometimes easy to get them confused. Look at this one!” he said. He grabbed a handful of animal feed from a sack and got down on his knees across from a small vine that was perched on three intertwined stems. He held out the feed. “Come on!” he urged. As Mimidae perched on his shoulder, the plant’s stems began to quiver, and then, slowly, it shuffled along the ground towards Carlos It tentatively extended out a tendril, scooping up the feed, right out of Carlos’s hand. 

“Extraordinary, isn’t it?” asked Carlos. Mimidae didn’t seem to agree, as she was frowning disapprovingly at the plant that was now greedily digesting the feed. 

“And I have an extensive collection of flowering plants over here,” said Carlos, leading the way. And so they passed some time in his garden, until the better part of an hour had gone by, and Carlos thought it would be a good idea to get back inside and get dressed.

Just as he entered his quarters and shut the doorway to the garden, there was a sharp rap on his outer door, and noises of someone outside his quarters making a rather large fuss. Mimidae snuggled herself into the folds of the blanket Carlos was wearing, out of sight. He tightened his wrap around him, and went to answer the door.

“Ah, Gasket, there you are!” thundered Colonel Mustard, the chief of his expedition.

“It’s Gasset, sir. Ortega y Gasset,” Carlos softly corrected for perhaps the hundredth time. “And my proper last name-“

“Gasset, Gasket!” huffed the Colonel. “You’re not fussy, are you? I can’t abide fussy soldiers in my company!”

“I’m not a soldier, sir: I’m a scientist,” Carlos reminded him.

“Yes, a scientist. Why aren’t you in your laboratory coat?”

“Well,” Carlos admitted, “I had a minor encounter with planetary, er, agents today.” He felt Mimidae wriggling under his blanket. 

“I heard about that!” the Colonel told him. “Getting sloppy! I can’t abide sloppiness in the ranks.”

“Well, anyway, I went through the full decontamination procedure.” Trurl and Klapaucius had made certain of that! 

“All right then. Time to stop messing about and stow your gear. We’ve got to get a move on!”

“A move on … to where?” asked Carlos as he felt a fluttering near his heart.

“The Dark Side. Where else?”

Carlos was speechless for a moment. “But…. Sir! We’ve barely begun cataloging the flora and fauna of this environment. Why, just today-“

“Less talk, more action, Gasket! Don’t let the moss grow.” And with that, the Colonel twirled around and marched off, double-time.

“It’s _Gasset_ ,” muttered Carlos, closing the door to his cubicle. “Ortega y Gasset.” He slumped down on his bed. It was hopeless teaching these people the traditions of New Hispaniola!

He felt a shift of his blanket, and Mimidae came fluttering out. “Well, this was unexpected,” he told her as she alit on his finger. “Have you ever been to the Dark Side?” He started to wonder about Cecil, and his erratic broadcasts. He squatted down and opened his trunk, and pulled out his ear pods.

 

“Great news, listeners! Teddy Williams has begun spiking the rum toddies with absinthe! I’m seeing things as never before.”

Khoshekh sniffed at Cecil’s beverage, which was carelessly sitting on the edge of the ball retrieval unit while Cecil, who was wearing a live mike clipped to his tie, fumbled for his bowling ball. After shooing the annoyed cat away from his rather potent cocktail, he managed to retrieve a ball that was finished in a kind of odd, orangey metallic sheen. “And now, here I go, off to make a strike!” Cecil announced, swinging the ball with such ferocious energy that he ended up spinning around a full 180 degrees, aiming not at the pins, but rather at the assembled gallery of Night Vale citizens. An ad hoc committee consisting of Teddy Williams, high school football coach Nazr al-Mujaheed and Roger Singh managed to get him turned around to more or less the appropriate direction, and the radio host let fly with the ball, which managed to evade the snapping turtles, bounced into the adjacent lane, and even knocked down several pins there. 

As the crowd roared its approval an intern came down and handed a piece of paper to Cecil. Cecil scanned it. “Listeners, I’ve been handed a report that says they have just sighted several airships belonging to StrexCorp Synernist Inc. overhead. I think there’s really only one thing to do: we should go and greet them!”

 

Colonel Mustard was fuming. “There's another one!” he said, pointing out where an orange bowling ball was, oddly enough, embedded in the StrexCorp airship's fuselage. There were actually a number of the bowling balls lodged here and there along the ship's hull. The damage, fortunately, was merely cosmetic but it was driving the Colonel, who loathed untidiness, entirely up a tree. They had just landed at the Dark Side base. To Carlos's great displeasure, it was located high up in the air: high enough, supposedly, to be free of the planet's contamination. It connected to the ground below via a row of silent, glass-sided elevators, which floated up and town the column which supported the upper structure like dewdrops on a stem.

They had come under attack, of a sort, as they flew over the Dark Side town of Night Vale. The ship had come upon a mist, and then, all of a sudden, found itself bombarded by an array of small, hard projectiles. It hadn't caused any serious damage, but had definitely rattled the Strex Corp crew, which was not used to unforeseen events, nor resistance from any native peoples.

“See to this!” the colonel barked at Trurl and Klapaucius. Trurl was standing halfway at attention: he had apparently been birthed on a low-gravity moon somewhere, and thus stood an astounding seven foot tall, so he constantly slumped around, half curled over, as if to disguise his great height. Klapaucius stood straight as possible considering his broad back and ample belly: he by contrast was from a high-gravity world, and was nearly as broad shoulder to shoulder as he was tall. 

Their feeble attempt at military discipline, however, was soon voided when the Colonel spun into a turn and revealed a snapping turtle, clamped to the back of his pants. “These Dark Siders,” he muttered as he marched off. “They mean to destroy our way of life!”

Trurl handed a chuckling Klapaucius a crowbar, but Carlos remained standing there for a moment, pondering the Colonel's words. “Why do the Dark Siders dislike us?” he asked them.

“Oh, them locals,” Klapaucius tutted. “We told you Carlos, you don't mix!”

“It means nothing but trouble!” warned Trurl.

“But why?” asked Carlos.

_“Because they don't believe in the Smiling God!”_ offered a familiar voice.

Carlos looked down at the large hand on his shoulder and stifled a shudder. Kevin was standing beside him, genial smile on his face, as was always his mien. Carlos wasn't precisely certain why the man's presence made him cringe, but he always tried his best to avoid him.

“Er, they don't believe?” asked Carlos.

“No,” sighed Kevin, who to Carlos's dismay did not release his shoulder, but instead tugged him along the landing platform, away from where the working men were effecting repairs to the disfigured airship. “For some reason, they don't want to be their best selves. As you have no doubt heard us discuss many time on my radio program. You always listen to my broadcast, don't you?”

“Uh, of course,” muttered Carlos, who was reluctant to admit that he had actually been listening in secret to Cecil's pirate radio broadcasts from Night Vale. He felt a fluttering just over his heart: Mimidae was currently resting in his chest pocket. Oh, yes, that was another thing: he was carrying around a “contaminated” creature from the planet's surface! 

He walked along the platform with Kevin. The structure stretched high above the moon's surface: so high a scattering of clouds could be seen below. The sides were smooth and silvery, and festooned everywhere with the StrexCorp logo, as was the custom. Carlos glanced over the low railing and shuddered openly this time. It was a long way down, and he had never been entirely comfortable with heights. No, he had to admit, up here he was utterly terrified of heights. 

“But you want to be your best self, don't you, Carlos?” asked Kevin, his nails now digging slightly into Carlos's shoulder, his teeth gritted as his genial smile intensified. “You wouldn't settle for anything less, would you?”

“I always aspire to be myself,” Carlos retorted. He felt Mimidae flap against his chest once more, as if in agreement. “Now, I really should get to my quarters.”

“Yes, you have much work to do,” said Kevin. “Much labor before we get to the good work of cleaning up this planet. As do I. My broadcasts have never been so important, spreading the good news.”

“You realize that Night Vale has its own radio show?” Carlos blurted, immediately regretting his boldness.

Kevin's smiled tightened, and just for a very brief instant, something very dark flashed through his eyes. But then it was gone, like a sudden summer storm. “We have plans for that. We are broadcasting on every frequency. Every frequency! We will jam the signal, and only the one true voice – the voice of Strex – will get through.” 

“Uh, yes,” said Carlos, who was very relieved when Kevin, at long last, released his grip. Carlos immediately turned and fled into the building, trying to keep himself from trembling. He didn't slow down until he'd reached his brand new quarters. He shut the door behind him and opened his coat so Mimidae could stretch her wings.

He had decided at some point that the creature was female. He wasn't entirely certain why, as he was still unfamiliar with her physiology.

“Well, this is the new digs, Mimi,” he said as she awkwardly propelled herself over to the window. Her healing wing was gradually growing stronger. “It's still small, but the view has improved at least!” The little animal – somewhere in that nether region between a bat and a butterfly – looked somewhat longingly, Carlos thought, out the window. 

He stretched out on his bunk and glanced at the wall opposite. It contained, as did all residences throughout StrexCorp’s network, a wall-sized mural of the Smiling God. Usually, once he had occupied a space for a time, the mural would somehow find itself covered over with bits and bobs, but now it was fresh and unsullied. Carlos looked away. There was something that disturbed him about those reflective, metallic teeth. They were perfect, as he was supposed to aspire to be, but sometimes at night, he would dream of those teeth, opening wide, and a wet, pink tongue poking through.

Carlos didn’t recall much of his life before StrexCorp. His memories of his home world were dim. He knew there hadn't been much to eat, and his clothes were patched many times, but he also remembered the rich smells of his mother’s cooking, the breeze on his face, the soft voices of the women as they gathered to wash clothes in the clear, running stream. And then he remembered his mother’s tears as the men in their stiff sterile uniforms whisked him away, to a place where there was always plenty of food, and all the corners were sharp, and all the surfaces were smooth and shiny.

Carlos, despite his homesickness, had flourished in the StrexCorp academy, first under the tutelage of Master Sagan, and then, when the old master had achieved perfection (though the rumor was he had died), Master Tyson. Until the latter had suddenly disappeared one bright, sharp afternoon. The masters had taught him to be skeptical of everything, including (though no one ever mentioned it, Carlos had induced it) the Smiling God.

He grunted, and flung a towel against the beaming mural, where it bounced against the rows of teeth and sunk to form a kind of grey goatee on the Smiling God’s chin. “Shall I take you along when I go to collect specimens?” he asked Mimidae. There was a swift flash of wings, and Mimidae was on his shoulder, nudging his cheek. “It might be dangerous!” he confided, even though he knew the poor beast couldn't possibly understand. “I have no idea what could be out there on the Dark Side. I've never ventured outside over here: I've only heard that radio program. And it all seems so terribly strange.”

Feeling suddenly quite lonely, Carlos went over to his trunk, which had already been situated in his room, opened it up, and scrounged around for his earpods. And then he tuned in to a very familiar voice. 

 

“...Once again, listeners, the City Council is urging that citizens remain calm for our upcoming street cleaning day. Who knows what may befall our fair city? As veterans can tell you, take canned goods and your least clumsy children and retreat to your basements and fallout shelters, or if you did not have the foresight to dig a fallout shelter, then you may try hiding in the closet. They will find you there, oh yes! But the darkness within may lend you a degree of comfort in your last, terrible hours.”

“In the meantime, let's see if Steve Carlsberg really can throw that spare, as he's been bragging all night. We know your game, Steve,” Cecil sneered. Across the alley, his annoying brother-in-law lined up a shot. Cecil meanwhile set up a pre-recorded message from Arby's. He poured some water into his beer glass and dropped in a couple of tabs of Alka Seltzer. He pondered what he might do for street cleaning day. It might be a nice time to get out of town and take in some fresh air. And he was curious as to what the Strex team was up to. 

 

Carlos was overwhelmed.

The Dark Side was nothing like he had imagined. 

To be brief, it was the most scientifically interesting location he had ever visited. He could barely turn around without bumping into a new species. It was sometimes legitimately bumping, as he was unfortunately swaddled in the clumsy isolation suit. But for once, he almost didn't mind. He felt like Darwin must have felt, when first the brilliant naturalist visited the Galapagos and beheld the wonders of life. 

There was grass that whistled, trees that hummed, birds that swum, and fish that flew. There were snakes with jointed legs, giraffes with forked tongues, and some kind of beasts that looked like corkscrews on spider legs. 

He had experienced a moment of fright when he came upon a towering lizard of some kind, with sharp claws and piercing teeth. But it had merely hooted and run away, shy as a baby rabbit. Most animals, however, seemed rather oblivious to his presence, much as Mimidae's flock had ignored him. It was ideal for taking readings, and Carlos soon lost track of time, so absorbed was he in his work.

The scuttling sound must have started before he was aware of it: the noises of the forest were muffled by the wheezing of his respirator. But he definitely heard the screams of the giant lizard he had encountered. It was loud enough to make him set down his meter and venture up the hillside to see what was going on. It was a truly amazing, if horrifying sight: the giant lizard was stuck in a marsh, and was being attacked by a pack of what looked for all the world like a bunch of crabs. While the poor beast screamed, the scuttling creatures swarmed it, pinching and biting and generally tearing it limb from limb. 

Carlos watched in mute wonder for a while as the lizard was overcome by the attacking mass of arthropods and finally fell. Choking back his sorrow (for the lizard was a magnificent creature), he turned to go back and get his meter, so he could record this phenomenon, when he heard the scuttling. He looked back over his shoulder, and gasped. There were more of the crab-creatures now emerging from the woods beyond the bog, and then still more of them. His emotions changed from sadness to a sort of creeping terror. By this time, the crabs had already stripped the giant lizard to bare, bloody bones. 

Carlos started back down the hill, but in his haste, his slick shoes betrayed him. He slipped and tumbled downwards. Breathing hard, he quickly picked himself back up to find he was bruised and scraped up, but did not seem to have anything broken. He was annoyed to see his suit had torn along one of the seams: this meant another decontamination shower!

He sensed a clicking sound overhead: a couple of the carnivorous crabs had just crested the hill directly above him. He needed to get away from here! He tried to stand, but found to his annoyance that the suit was now snagged on a rock. He tried to disentangle it, but only seemed to get further ensnared.

He felt a nip at his ankle: one of the crabs had ventured down and was now probing at him, putting pincers on the fabric of his suit. And there were more of them, scuttling downwards towards him. Panicking now, Carlos grabbed the fabric where it had begun to rip and pulled with all his might. He tore open the suit and wriggled out of it, leaving only his helmet in place. 

As the crabs began to swarm over the hill, he fled, barefooted, over the rocky terrain, the sound of his respirator panting in his ears. There was a scuttling and scraping in back of him, but he didn't even dare turn to look back. They were getting closer. 

An engine roared. There was a man on a hoverbike beside him, holding out a hand. 

“Come with me if you want to live!” the man told him.

Carlos didn't hesitate, despite the cliched expression: he grabbed onto the man's hand, hopping up into the seat behind him, and they roared off, just ahead of the oncoming tide of little monsters. Carlos held tight to the man's waist as they zipped at breakneck speed over the rough terrain, and finally skimmed over a river, coming to a stop on the far side.

“We're safe now,” the stranger assured Carlos, shutting off the bike. “They can't cross running water. They're like vampires! Only maybe more like sponges?”

Carlos dismounted, his legs still shaking. His feet throbbed with pain: he had injured them when he was running. The stranger dismounted his bike, pulling off his helmet and smiling. He was blond, and very, very fair. Carlos could see traces of blue ink markings underneath his shirt collar. 

A mass of crabs came crawling towards the opposite shore, and Carlos cringed. But, as the man had said, they broke like a wave at the edge of the water, instead filing up and down the bank.

“Hydrophobic crabs?” asked Carlos.

“They can't swim,” laughed the man, who was squatting down by the river now. One or two of the crabs had fallen into the water, where they kicked for a while, and then fell silent. The man plucked one out of the river as it drifted by. “See? Drowned!” He tossed it into a saddlebag on the back of his bike. “But they make great crab cakes! I'm Cecil, by the way.”

“Cecil?” said Carlos dumbly. “On the radio?” That was why his voice had sounded so familiar.

“Why, yes, I have a community radio show. Are you one of my listeners?”

“Yes! Every time you're on.” The man was peering at him now, and Carlos suddenly realized he was still wearing his helmet. With the suit off, it didn't really make much sense to keep wearing it, so he pulled it off, shaking out his dark hair in the light of the twin suns.

“Well, hellllooo, gorgeous!” said Cecil, who was now looking him up and down, his light eyes gone wide.

“Um, Carlos,” said Carlos, awkwardly stowing his helmet under an arm and reaching out his hand to shake.

“Carlos,” said Cecil. “And have you always been perfect, Carlos?”

“What?” asked Carlos, who was suddenly blushing. “I'm not perfect.”

“Then you're perfectly imperfect,” said Cecil, who still appeared dreamy-eyed. He stepped back when Mimidae came flying out of a pocket in Carlos's shirt. 

“Oh, Mimi! I'm sorry, I forgot all about you!” said Carlos, as the little creature flew up to his shoulder and then stood, regarding Cecil.

“You have a nymph?” asked Cecil, who leaned forward and stared.

“Is that what she is?” asked Carlos. “She was separated from her flock. And this thing – it was like a hawk, or maybe a vacuum cleaner – was attacking her and damaged her wing.”

“Mmm, yes, the hewvurs will prey on them sometimes. Really extraordinary creatures. Aren't you?” he asked her. He extended a pale hand, and to Carlos's surprise, Mimi curiously leapt over to him. “Aren't you a pretty girl? You know you are!” he cooed, and she extended her wings. “They adore praise,” he whispered to Carlos. “As we all do, I suppose!” He put out his hand again, and she hopped back onto Carlos's shoulder. “Oh, you're injured,” said Cecil, pointing down at Carlos's aching and bloody feet.

“I had to take off my isolation suit. To run away from the crabs.”

“Are you with StrexCorp?”

Carlos was confused. “Well, yes.”

“You've got the logo all over your helmet.”

“Oh!” Carlos had become inured to the StrexCorp logo, as it was blazed on just about everything he encountered nowadays. “Yes,” he said, holding up the helmet. “I'm a scientist. I've come here to study Hecate: it's scientifically interesting, and actually, downright weird.” He hesitated. “I mean, no offense.”

“None taken! I for one find it a compliment to be found scientifically interesting. I mean, we have all been scientists, at one time or another, haven't we?”

“Um, not really,” said Carlos.

“You two hop on, and we'll get you into town to get fixed up!”

Carlos hesitated: he really ought to get back to base. But he had to ask, “You mean, go to Night Vale?”

“Where else?” asked Cecil, who hopped back on his hoverbike and kickstarted it. “Come on!” He raised a pale eyebrow. “Who knows, there might be some crabs on this side of the river!”

Carlos looked at Mimidae, who slipped back into his pocket. Well, that seemed like encouragement. He considered putting his helmet back on.

“I wouldn't do that!” Cecil cautioned. “Strex isn't too popular in Night Vale. No offense!”

“None taken,” laughed Carlos, who gladly set the awkward helmet on a rock. And then he mounted in back of Cecil. 

“Be sure to hold on tight,” said Cecil, who was donning his own helmet. “Very tight! I don't want to lose you back there.”

Carlos cautiously twined his arms around Cecil's waist. He was surprised when Cecil gripped his hands and pulled them tighter, lingering for a long moment, their fingers entwined. Carlos edged closer, feeling a sudden fluttering that was definitely not Mimi. And then Cecil grabbed the handlebars and they shot off, and there was that giddy feeling of acceleration and this strange and wonderful and surprising new land speeding by him.


	2. Chapter 2

“This is Carlos. He's a _scientist_!” said Cecil, his voice brimming with pride, as if he had just fetched in a prized specimen.

Carlos had finally arrived in Night Vale. To his surprise, Cecil had immediately escorted him to a bowling alley, which was evidently some kind of local meeting place. Oddly enough, absolutely no one here was bowling. This observation became less puzzling when you noticed that there were no bowling balls to be had. Carlos remembered the bowling balls that had been flung into the StrexCorp airship while it was flying overhead and suddenly understood why.

“Well, we've all been scientists at one point or another, haven't we?” opined Teddy Williams, the proprietor, who didn't seem to mind that everybody was just hanging out, socializing and drinking beer from plastic cups. The score boards had all been changed to read, “STREXCORP STOLE MY BALLS.”

“Um, actually-” said Carlos, just as someone thrust plastic cup of beer into his hands.

“I thought I'd take him to my place get him cleaned up,” said Cecil.

“Cecil, you sly dog,” said Nazr al-Mujahid, who Carlos understood was some kind of team coach. He was sipping grape soda from his plastic cup. He clapped Cecil on the back. 

“I can't possibly think what you might mean,” Cecil piously told Nazr. “I'm simply going to take this incredibly attractive young man with impossibly perfect hair into my home, dispense with all those obviously uncomfortable and undoubtedly itchy StrexCorp clothes, and give him a nice, warm bath.”

“A bath?” asked Carlos, whose mind immediately conjured up the uncomfortable decontamination showers.

“Mmm, a nice bubble bath?” asked Cecil. “I have scented candles.”

“I bet you do,” laughed Teddy.

“Do you have any spare clothing, Josie?” asked Cecil. Carlos's pants and shirt had gotten a bit ripped up and dirty when he fled from the herd of carnivorous crab creatures.

“Of course, my dear,” Josie told him, her eyes blinking behind thick glasses. “He looks just about the size of my grandson, Tobias.” Mimidae, who had immediately flown from Carlos's pocket to perch on Josie's shoulder, purred her approval of this arrangement.

“Maybe you could take care of his pet nymph while we're at my house,” Cecil suggested. “I'm not sure how she'd get along with Khoshekh.”

“Khoshekh?” asked Carlos.

“My kitty cat!” said Cecil, who sounded rather like an indulgent parent. Teddy Williams rolled his eyes, and Nazr shook his head, but Carlos couldn't divine what this might mean. “He's my baby boy.”

“Will this be all right with you, Mimi?” Carlos asked. The little nymph fluttered her wings, as if in assent.

“She'll be right as rain with me,” Josie assured him. “Maybe she can talk some sense into my angels!”

“Your...?” Carlos started, but Josie was already tottering away, and Cecil was pulling on Carlos's arm.

As it turned out, Cecil wasn't lying about the candles, nor the bubble bath. Carlos was soon relaxing in a very deep tub, in the middle of much warm, soapy water, surrounded by bewitching scents. He even had a glass of wine, supplied by Cecil, who soon came bustling into the bathroom carrying a tray.

Carlos blushed furiously, although he was mostly covered up by the abundant bubbles. 

To Carlos’s relief, Cecil shut the door behind him. Khoshekh, who also lived here, and apparently spent much of his time perched on Cecil’s shoulder, glaring down with an eye full of vengeance, could perhaps only be categorized as a “cat” by one who had encountered the species by secondhand information supplied by a madman. Carlos was a bit chary of the beast. Cecil had cheerfully supplied that the spines upon its back were indeed poisonous, at which point, what curiosity Carlos had for further investigation had dimmed.

“All right, let's see those feet,” said Cecil, setting down the tray and pulling a stool over near the tub.

“Uh, my feet?” asked Carlos, taking a tentative sip of his wine.

“Yes, yes, I can hardly work dark magic on them if I can't see them!”

“You're going to use … _magic_ on my feet?” asked Carlos, who thought perhaps he hadn't heard correctly.

“You injured them, didn't you?”

That hadn't been exactly what Carlos was asking, but nevertheless, he stuck his feet up on the edge of the tub. They were red and swollen from the beating they’d taken on the rough ground. Carlos seemed to remember that, as a child, he had run along rough dirt roads barefooted, but it had been many years ago, and now he was used to the smooth perfection of StrexCorp floors.

Cecil pulled out a bottle or two and cheerfully sprinkled powder over Carlos’s aching feet. He got a little over-enthusiastic with some purple stuff, which caused Carlos to sneeze. “My apologies!” said Cecil. “And now for the last critical step,” he announced, holding both of Carlos’s feet firmly in his hands. “I’m going to say the incantation. And hopefully this will go well. Unlike last time!” he added, almost as an aside.

“Uh, what exactly happened last time?” asked Carlos.

“Oh, it’s not big thing, and Earl says the webbing helps him when he swims!”

“Webbing?” asked Carlos, but then Cecil tightened his grip on Carlos's feet and leaned over, looking quite serious. The candles dimmed and sputtered. Carlos held his breath.

“Magicazoola, pastafazoola, bippity-boppity-boo!” chanted Cecil. The candles flashed, there was a pop, and Carlos felt himself thrown forcefully back into the tub by some kind of blast wave, splashing water and soap bubbles everywhere.

Carlos opened his eyes. The bathroom was completely dark, and now he felt a great weight on his chest. 

The weight moved.

“Oh, sorry, how embarrassing!” said Cecil, who had somehow ended up lying on top of him. Carlos blinked: Cecil’s face was only a few inches from his own. “Usually my dark magic has a little bit less of a kick. Must be that new mandrake root I’ve been using.”

“Um,” answered Carlos, who was not accustomed to being entangled with another person, especially when he was wearing so few clothes.

Cecil tilted his head, his eyes grown wide in wonder. “Why, you’re even more perfect this close up.”

Carlos glared. He struggled to sit up, pushing Cecil backwards in the tub. “I’m not perfect!”

“You don’t think you’re perfect?” asked Cecil, sitting back on his haunches, his clothes now dripping wet, rivulets of water streaming from his hair down his pale face. He seemed wistful. “Why not?”

“Only the Smiling God is perfect,” Carlos grumbled.

Cecil continued staring for a while, and then seemed to realize something. “Oh, the Smiling God. Big S, big G. Yes, Strex is always pottering on about him, aren’t they?” Cecil considered it. “Or her. Or it? Is the Smiling God a gendered being? It’s fine if he isn’t!”

“I believe he is male,” said Carlos, who hadn’t really considered this before. “I have the picture in my room. Everybody does. He has perfect teeth. They’re metallic.” And then he shuddered. The Smiling God's teeth had always disturbed him.

“Metallic teeth aren’t perfect. They’re metal! Ew!” said Cecil. He smiled at Carlos again. “You have perfect teeth! All aligned, like a row of gravestones!”

“How are gravestones perfect?” asked Carlos, as Cecil dragged himself out of the tub. Carlos had never actually seen a real cemetery: StrexCorp citizens who passed on simply disappeared. But he had seen images in the records. They were rather cool and creepy, with vines growing everywhere and intricately carved headstones.

“You don’t like graveyards?” asked Cecil.

“I’ve never been to one.”

“I’ll take you! We can gather some toadstools. Now, let’s have a look at those feet.”

With all the excitement, Carlos had nearly forgotten about his feet. Cecil’s shoes squished on the floor as he stomped over to turn on a light switch. Carlos tried wiggling his toes under the water, relieved that at least he still had toes. And he noticed that his feet were no longer throbbing in pain. Covering his eyes with a hand, he raised one dripping foot up out of the tub, only to feel it seized by Cecil.

“Oh, perfect!” crowed Cecil. “Oops, sorry, I mean, this is neat!” Carlos peeked through his fingers. Yes, it looked like a foot, with all five toes, and absolutely no webbing. And now all of the gashes and blisters were gone. It was like … magic!

He peered with interest at Cecil’s long-fingered hand, so pale against Carlos’s skin. Even soaking wet, Cecil’s hair was the color of dry straw, and his eyes a faded green. He looked like a person who’d been left sitting on a windowsill, to be bleached out by the sun. 

Also, he had a nice smile. It wasn’t at all like the Smiling God’s smile – it reached all the way up his face, like crawling vines, curling around his eyes and nose, which crinkled from the sheer joy of smiling. 

There was a knocking sound from the direction of Cecil's entryway. “That’ll be Josie with some fresh clothes. Why don’t you get dried off, and I’ll go get them?” said Cecil, whisking out of the bathroom, still soaking wet, his shoes squishing on the tiles. Carlos was going to ask him if he didn’t need to towel off, but Cecil shut the door behind him. The scientist emerged a little reluctantly from the still-warm bath, and wrapped himself up in one of Cecil’s big, soft towels. 

There was a rap at the bathroom door and Cecil burst in, holding armfuls of clothing. “Now, you can get freshened up, and then we’ll have a little dinner-“

“I really should think about getting back,” Carlos told him.

Cecil’s face fell, and Carlos immediately regretted his words. After all, hadn’t Cecil saved him? And also just healed his feet? If he wanted to eat dinner, wasn’t that the polite thing to do? “Er, I mean, maybe a quick dinner? Would that be possible?”

Cecil was all smiles again. “Yes, of course! We’ll have a light dinner, and then get you right back to the arms of the Smiling God.” This time, it was Carlos who stopped smiling. Which was odd, since he hadn’t been aware that he was, in fact, smiling. He paused, and tried it out again: retracting the cheeks, and looking around the bathroom for a mirror. There wasn’t one, which was a bit odd.

“Are you all right?” asked Cecil.

“I…. I think I would enjoy having dinner with you!” Carlos told him. 

Cecil clutched the pile of clothing so tightly his pale hands actually colored. “Oh, Carlos, that makes me so pleased! All right, all right, I’ll call in a reservation. You and I, we’ll go to dinner, the two of us, eating dinner, and…. I’ll go now….” Cecil fled the bathroom, shutting the door, but then immediately opened the door, thrusting out the pile of clothes. “Oh, uh, I had forgotten about these. Yes, you’ll get dressed first. And then we’ll go have dinner. Here you go.” And then, once again, the door slammed shut.

The pants were a little loose, and the shirt was a little tight, although the sandals Josie had loaned him were just about right. Carlos felt a little naked without a lab coat, but Cecil beamed at him as if he were clothed in ermine, and so, after Cecil had been persuaded to towel off and don some fresh (and somewhat dryer) clothing, they strolled from Cecil’s house towards what Cecil called the downtown area.

Carlos observed the neighborhood with great curiosity as Cecil supplied a narrative of who lived where. It was a great contrast to the Strex developments where Carlos had lived, more like a crazy quilt than a town. Some lawns were overgrown, some were neat as a pin. Josie’s front yard was planted as a garden, with a row of sunflowers. They waved at her as they passed, and he could see Mimidae happily fluttering from flower to flower. The flowers whistled happily, as certain of the Night Vale vegetation seemed to do.

Some houses were painted bright colors, and others were more muted. Some of the homes had vehicles parked nearby, like Cecil’s hoverbike. There were children running around, laughing and screaming, some playing with odd-looking pets, animals that looked like a cross between a dog and a centipede, and other things that seemed to be sentient Frisbees.

At last they arrived under a large flashing neon sign for Big Rico’s Pizza. “No one does a slice like Big Rico’s!” said Cecil as he held the door open. “No one!”

“What is pizza, exactly?” asked Carlos.

Cecil froze, staring at Carlos. “You’ve never had pizza?”

And so it was that Carlos’s “light dinner” turned into samples of pepperoni pizza, mushroom pizza, grand slam pizza, meatball pizza, Hawaiian pizza, margherita pizza, goat cheese pizza, stuffed crust pizza, roasted pepper pizza, pizza rolls, New York pizza, Chicago pizza, eggplant pizza, Cajun Creole pizza, abalone sauce pizza, shrimp and mayo pizza, and S’Mores pizza. Carlos wasn’t exactly certain what a S’More was, but he was absolutely certain he had rarely felt so full. 

At one point, someone named Trish Hidge, who Cecil said was from the mayor's office, stopped by their table, and pulled Cecil away to have a whispered conversation with Cecil. Cecil returned, shaking his head. “She's such a bore. She always insists she can disappear in a puff of smoke,” he confessed. Carlos noticed Trish standing there, apparently concentrating deeply, but when she thought no one was looking she instead darted out the emergency exit. 

They waddled back to Cecil’s neighborhood to collect Mimidae, who was so exhausted after her eventful day that she curled up in Carlos’s pocket and fell fast asleep. And then they mounted Cecil’s hoverbike and sped back to the StrexCorp tower just as the twin suns were setting in the sky beyond the ringed home planet. Although Carlos was wary of heights, he let Cecil bypass the elevators and instead bring him all the way up to the landing platform. He was a little scared, but held tight to Cecil on the way.

Cecil let Carlos off on the landing platform, where Carlos was relieved to see everyone had gone in for the night. The large airship, which was still undergoing repairs, was docked nearby, and there was a dumpster full of trash from the objects they had pulled from her hull.

Cecil leaned over and scooped up an orange bowling ball. “Hey, this one was mine!” he exclaimed. He grinned and tucked it into his saddle bag. “Do you mind if I take them back? We have a bit of a shortage!”

“Cecil-“

“Yes?” said Cecil, who was quite suddenly standing a bit too close.

“I, uh, I ate a lot,” said Carlos, who started to rub his tummy.

“It doesn’t show,” said Cecil, who was glancing down at the expanse of bare stomach where the borrowed shirt and low-hanging jeans didn’t quite meet. 

“I mean,” said Carlos, “that was an interesting evening. Scientifically speaking. I wasn’t aware of so many varieties of pizza.”

“Really?”

“So, thank you….”

“For giving you indigestion?” asked Cecil.

“For saving my life.”

Cecil was suddenly shy. He looked down. “Aw, it was-“ he said, looking up again. 

Which was when Carlos kissed him. Just once. Just very lightly.

Cecil stepped back, a look of wonder shining from his wraith-pale face, and dangerously close to the edge of the platform. He clicked on the remote starter for his bike, and it revved and then darted away. Cecil smiled, raised up both arms-

-and fell backwards, right off the platform.

“Cecil!” Carlos shouted, loud enough to wake up Mimidae in his pocket. He stepped to the edge of the platform just as there was a roar, and the hoverbike appeared at eye level, with Cecil astride it.

“Beautiful Carlos!” shouted Cecil. “Perfectly imperfect Carlos! My Carlos! I will see you again!” And with a wave, he zoomed off, leaving Carlos’s heart fluttering.

Carlos retreated to his room, where, once again, he dreamed of the Smiling God. And, in his dream, he picked up Cecil’s bowling ball and rolled it at the god, completely shattering his shiny metal teeth.

 

“It’s a bright, shiny Hecate day for all of us!” It was some days later. Kevin sat back in his gleaming new control room, speaking into his state of the art microphone, glorying at the sound of his voice as it was fed back into his earphones. “On behalf of StrexCorp Synernist Inc., we welcome all of our new listeners who have no doubt joined us today, now that we’re broadcasting on all frequencies on your AM, FM and XXM dials! The Smiling God is smiling down on all of us today, that’s for sure.”

“And now-“

But suddenly, Kevin winced. Instead of his comforting voice, there was a discordant buzz of static rattling through his headphones. He pulled them off and looked around, confused. The static cleared, and he donned the headphones.

And then, despite the bright, shiny day, he became rather unhappy.

“And now, it’s time for traffic,” came an all-too-familiar soothing voice. “Today’s commuters should be especially aware of a large, jellyfish-shaped rock that’s just beyond the standing stones. And they need to be especially aware at around 10:30 am, since that will give me time to digest my coffee. Otherwise, it all looks clear out there. Of course, except for that StrexCorp airship crash. Pity that it’s raining bowling balls today!”

“And now, the weather….”

 

Carlos looked around to make certain he was clear of the airlock. He shed his isolation suit, quietly placing it underneath a rock, and then walked to the point Cecil had indicated in his broadcast. He was not waiting by the jellyfish-shaped rock long before he heard the familiar roar of the hoverbike. Cecil stopped and Carlos hopped on, holding Cecil tightly around his waist, enjoying the closeness of him, and the air and the countryside whirling by.

They finally came to a stop by a little inlet, near one of Hecate's many wide seas. They dismounted. Cecil took off his helmet and set it down, and Carlos grabbed him and kissed him. It seemed like centuries since he'd gotten to kiss Cecil. It had actually been less than twenty-four hours. But lately his days had been spent in one of two ways: either kissing Cecil, or thinking about kissing Cecil. At night, he dreamed about kissing Cecil.

Cecil finally pushed Carlos back and then dug into a saddlebag. Carlos came up in back of him and began kissing his neck. Cecil laughed and, turning around, thrust a picnic basket into Carlos's midsection. “Here, take this, my dear,” he told Carlos, grabbing up a blanket. They walked uphill to a point overlooking the bay, and Cecil spread the blanket out. Carlos sat down next to him on the blanket, tugged at his collar, and got another kiss.

“Eat first,” said Cecil, opening the picnic basket. “You need food to keep up your stamina!”

Carlos brought his knees to his chest and pouted. “I miss you. I mean, when I'm not with you.”

“That's good!” said Cecil, bringing out the wine glasses.

“How is that good?”

“What if you forgot all about me when I wasn't around?” He uncorked the wine and let it spill into the glasses, where it fizzed up, the bubbles making little pops in the air. The wine was a lovely sapphire, “as blue as your eyes are not!” said Cecil, clinking his glass with Carlos's.

“Would you rather my eyes were blue?” asked Carlos, who lay back down on the blanket, thus baring the little patch of stomach he knew Cecil found intriguing. They had been seeing each other for a few weeks now: Cecil would drop instructions for the meeting place into his radio broadcast, and Carlos would be whisked off to a location with some new and scientifically interesting phenomenon. 

“Your eyes can stay,” said Cecil. “And I've already rhapsodized over your teeth. Your hair is unparalleled, in this universe or the next. Your nose, however-”

“What's wrong with my nose?” asked Carlos, who was suddenly sitting up, feeling at his face.

“Ah, so you don't want to be perfect, but also don't want to be imperfect?” said Cecil with a sly smile. 

Carlos pulled Cecil down with him. “You don't like my nose?”

“Everything about you is beautiful,” laughed Cecil, before Carlos began to kiss him again. “So, have you looked into Strex's intentions for this place?” Cecil asked, pushing himself back out of reach again.

“What does it matter?” Carlos asked petulantly. “It's always the same. They want you to be your perfect selves.”

“It's my home, Carlos. I'm interested.”

“Cecil, as I've told you, that information is classified. And I am neither a spy, nor a politician, nor a diplomat. I am a scientist. These kinds of things do not concern me.”

Cecil thrust a sandwich into his hand. “Speaking of which,” he said, “it's about time.”

“Time for what?” asked Carlos, biting into whatever Cecil had handed him. It was actually quite tasty: some sort of meat, and a spicy sauce. Food in Night Vale was very different: it was spicy or sour or bitter. He paused to look at the sandwich wrapped in a plastic baggie. The bread had small seeds in it, and it looked like it had been sliced by hand, as the pieces were uneven, not symmetrical like the bread back at Strex.

“Look!” said Cecil, pointing towards the bay. 

Carlos nearly dropped his sandwich. He scrambled to his feet and walked over for a better look.

There were some mid-sized cetaceans now roiling out of the water. They leapt out of the water, breaching completely, spinning around like corkscrews while whistling and sounding off. First one or two, and then more, until an entire pod was at play, leaping and gyrating.

“Why do they do that?” asked Carlos, standing gape-mouthed, holding his sandwich.

“Maybe it's fun?” said Cecil, who was now standing beside him. “You're the scientist, you tell me.”

“It's extraordinary!”

Cecil was tugging on his arm. “Come on. They'll keep it up for a while. Your sandwich will get cold.”

“It's a cold sandwich,” said Carlos, who nevertheless let Cecil lead him back to their picnic blanket. “Cecil, thank you,” he said as they sat down.

“It's fine.”

“And....” Carlos hesitated. “I will try to find out more about what Strex is doing here. This is the first time I've been sent out on a planetary expedition.”

“What did you do before?” asked Cecil, who was pulling out some napkins.

“I was a student. But my mentor....”

“What?” asked Cecil. He reached over and dabbed at some mustard that had gotten into the corner of Carlos's mouth.

“It doesn't matter,” said Carlos. He started to eat his sandwich again, but then stopped. “It's just.... Master Tyson. He was there one day, and then the next, he wasn't.”

“Reassigned, maybe?” asked Cecil, who was picking at his own sandwich.

“But every reference to him was gone from the records. His lectures, his papers: all gone. It was as if he had never existed.”

“Well, that's efficient,” said Cecil.

Carlos found his appetite had waned. He set down the sandwich. “I should get out my instruments,” he muttered.

 

It was foolishness.

Carlos had Mimi act as a lookout. The little nymph's wings had almost healed, and she was capable of flight over longer and longer distances without tiring. 

She flew down the shiny, sterile StrexCorp corridor ahead of him, perching in the doorways, looking out ahead, and waving a wing when the coast was clear. Mimi was sentient. She was, in fact, quite clever. It was something Carlos had not been prepared for.

He had changed back into his stiff, itchy Strex clothes, although he had foregone shoes, as it was quieter. And, he had to admit, he liked the feel of the floor beneath his feet, even if it was the smooth, polished StrexCorp materials, and not the planet surface. He much preferred the clothing Josie had loaned him. They were frayed, but soft. And now they smelled deliciously like Cecil. But he left those things all packed inside a case, so no one would know. 

He rounded another corner, crept along a hallway, and peered around the corridor. He saw where Mimi was positioned up above a doorway, looking and listening and extending her delicate antennae. She turned to face him, but suddenly, instead of their agreed on signals, fluttered and suddenly fled to hide behind a duct. 

Too late, Carlos heard the footsteps behind him. He turned to confront Trurl and Klapaucius, who were respectively slouching/waddling down the corridor. 

“What are you doing out here so late?” drawled Trurl suspiciously, as he slumped down to peer over Klapaucius’s broad shoulder. 

Carlos paused, stuttering, pushing his hands into his lab coat pocket. It was the remains of the sandwich Cecil had packed for the picnic: he had insisted Carlos take it back with him, in case he got hungry later. He got an idea, and grabbed the baggie and thrust it out towards the workmen.

“It’s this sample of native food,” he said, holding the sandwich out. “I haven’t processed it yet. So, it’s full of native contaminants.” He dangled it over Klapaucius’s head while Trurl edged back.

“Uh, we’ll let you get on your way, then!” said Trurl, one long-fingered hand grabbing onto the stunned Klapaucius’s shoulder. “C’mon.” He tugged, and, no matter what errand they had been on formerly, the two men hastened back in the opposite direction, as far from Carlos and his contamination as they could possibly propel themselves.

He felt a small weight on his shoulder just as they turned a corner, out of sight. “That was close!” he whispered to Mimi. “OK, we're almost there.” 

There was a large banner around the next bend: a vast mural of the Smiling God, and the words, “All are welcome.” This was the restricted part of the base. Carlos had not yet ventured over here. This was where his samples were sent to undergo the decontamination process, and it was also where the shuttle to their space ship, which was parked in orbit somewhere overhead, was docked. 

This area was usually a hub of activity during the day, but nearly deserted when the twin suns set. Carlos gathered his courage and pushed through the door.

He was mildly disappointed to find just more and more miles of shiny, unblemished corridor waiting for him. Well, what had he expected? Some kind of dark secrets lying within? He shook his head as Mimidae flew from his shoulder and began to flutter around. He had been listening to Cecil too much, and had probably taken all his nonsense and paranoia about Strex to heart. He was a scientist, after all. He was supposed to derive his view from evidence, not wild rumors and ill-formed conjectures.

Mimidae was now fluttering in his face, trying to get his attention. “What is it, Mimi?” he asked. “I’m sorry I’m not paying attention to you.” Perhaps she wanted to play a game? But she soared over to one of the doors and hovered there, acting agitated.

“What’s in here?” he asked. It could be she scented his samples of native flowers: she really seemed to like playing in the flowers. He smiled and opened the door.

And he _saw_.

 

“My entire garden, Cecil.” Carlos was ignoring the plate of food spread out on the table in front of him. “Everything I had collected from the Light Side. They dug it all up – every scrap – and put it in crates. All of it.”

Cecil was gnawing on a drumstick. He'd taken off his boots to let his bare feet feel the grass, and was sitting cross-legged on the picnic bench, like some kind of pale picnic buddha. “You really need to taste this fried chicken, Carlos. It’s Josie’s special recipe.”

“What could they be doing with it, Cecil? If it’s being packed, it’s likely to be transported offworld.”

Cecil was dipping a plastic spork into the mashed potatoes. “I’ll need to talk to the City Council.”

“Talk to them about what?”

“Oh,” Cecil hedged, “this and that,” he added, pointing the fork this way and that.

Mimidae fluttered onto the table, and Carlos held out a bit of macaroni salad for her to sample. “Cecil, what’s going on? You need to tell me!”

“I wouldn’t worry about it. Much,” Cecil breezed. “They’re probably set to sterilize the planet. Like they’ve been doing elsewhere.”

Carlo felt something in the pit of his stomach. “What?”

Cecil occupied himself eating. “I wouldn’t worry too much about it. We have an apocalypse at least once a month around here. Sometimes twice! Why, have I told you about the last Valentine’s Day….”

Carlos's mind was racing. Night Vale! “Cecil, we have to do something! We have to stop them!”

“Carlos, you told me you were a scientist, and not a politician.”

“But this is your home. And Mimi lives here.” The little nymph fluttered over to Cecil and sat on his shoulder, where he fed her a dab of potato salad off his finger. 

The radio host looked determined as Mimidae licked up the potato salad and gave a very small, very delicate burp. “We have some plans, my dear Carlos. We simply needed to be certain about their intentions. And now we are.”

Carlos’s heart sunk. He suddenly stood up, backing away from the table. “And that’s…. That’s the only reason you’ve been with me.”

“What?” Now, at last, Cecil was paying attention.

“You just wanted information. That’s all. That's why you've been nice to me.”

Cecil tossed down his spork, wiping his hands decisively on a paper napkin. “Carlos, of course not! Come back and eat.”

“You don't actually … _like_ me.” It seemed Carlos had never been so disappointed.

“Of course I like you! Why, you’re perfect!”

“Quit calling me that!”

All at once, Cecil stood and, in one fluid motion, hopped over the picnic table to stand directly in front of Carlos. It was terribly graceful. And more than a little sexy, Carlos admitted to himself. 

Cecil seized Carlos’s waistband, pulling him close. “But you _are_ perfect! You’re perfect for me! In fact, you couldn’t possibly be more perfect!”

“How so? You’re as pale as I am dark. I’m a scientist, and you’re a radio host. I’m from off world, and you’re a native.”

“Yes, it couldn’t possibly be better, could it?” 

“Cecil…. You’re a bit … odd, you know?”

“Why, yes! And you’re….” Cecil thought it over as he hopped up to sit on the picnic table, pulling Carlos close to him, between his legs. “Well, you are a little odd yourself, quite frankly. I suppose that might have worked out better, in terms of opposites attracting, now that I think of it.”

“You do care for me, Cecil?” It was getting hard to concentrate, as Cecil was now busy fondling his bottom.

“Why of course! I dream about you, Carlos! I want to be around you all the time. Which is probably a bit codependent, but I can accept it.” Cecil had now wrapped his legs around Carlos, and was pulling him in for a kiss. Carlos didn’t resist, and for a while, they contented themselves, moving together. Cecil's hands had somehow slipped under the waistband of his pants.

“When you dream about me,” Carlos whispered to Cecil, “what do you think about?”

“Oh, uh, I don’t think I want to talk about it around Mimi,” Cecil confessed, side-eyeing the nymph. “It involves an awful lot of removing of clothing,” he whispered.

Carlos raised an eyebrow. He looked over at Mimidae, who was raiding Cecil’s leftovers, and gave a sharp whistle. She muttered something that might have been a protest, but then took off, dragging the remains of a chicken wing along with her.

Carlos looked back at Cecil, who was already undoing the buttons on his own shirt. Grinning madly, Carlos peeled it down to bare Cecil's pale shoulders. “Eager?” whispered Cecil.

“Your skin,” murmured Carlos, who was busy kissing the soft, white skin of Cecil's neck. He started to grind against him, enjoying the hushed moans he elicited. As he edged off Cecil's shirt, he was curious to see the purple markings, like traces of birthmarks, that wended their way down cecil's arms and chest. They seemed to form arcane sigils, like a roadmap to some place ancient and sacred. He applied kisses to each marking, gently working his way down Cecil's torso, undoing his pants to find the fine, pale hairs on his belly. And then he was tasting those lovely, delicated-skinned thighs. He ghosted his mouth over Cecil's erection, and heard the soft call of his name. 

A few more layers of clothing and a dash of olive oil later, and Carlos was deep inside Cecil, right on top of the picnic table, between the potato salad and a bucket of chicken, thrilling at the delicious closeness. Cecil's long thighs were taut around his waist as Carlos sent himself again and again into Cecil's warm, tight body.

“Perfect,” Cecil purred, and for once, Carlos didn't bristle. Yes, this was perfect. This was perfection. This was grace, and joy, and love.

Had he thought … love?

They lay together for a time afterwards, Cecil nuzzled contentedly into Carlos’s chest, Carlos thrilling at the soft breeze on his skin, tracing a hand down Cecil's back, and the intricate designs that marked his pale skin. Cecil blinked at him. “I’ve always been marked like this,” he confessed.

“From birth?” asked Carlos. 

“Yes. My mother always insisted that I'd been touched by the gods.”

Carlos considered that there were multiple gods. The Smiling God wouldn't be pleased – Carlos doubted he would like to share power. This satisfied him, somehow. “It's really beautiful.”

“You think so?” Cecil's pale eyes were wide.

“Yes.” Carlos kissed his forehead, his soft hair. “Everything about you is beautiful.”

Cecil was sitting up. “Anyway, I feel sticky. Let’s go wash off in the lake.” He had already hopped off the table.

“Uh, you go,” said Carlos.

“What’s the matter,” laughed Cecil, tugging him up. “The water is warm this time of year. Come on.”

Carlos couldn’t offer a rebuttal, so followed Cecil to the shore, which descended slowly into the clear blue waters. Cecil was already out at waist height, and had begun to splash. “Come on, what’s the problem?”

Carlos stood uncertainly, shin deep in the clear water. “I can’t swim, Cecil,” he admitted.

Cecil laughed. “I thought you were a naturalist!”

“I’m a scientist, not a marine biologist,” Carlos huffed, crossing his arms.

“All right, then come one,” Cecil urged, grabbing Carlos by the arm and walking him deeper into the water. “I’ll teach you.”

“I don’t know about this, Cecil,” said Carlos.

“I’m right here. All you have to do is relax!” Carlos waded in deeper with a growing anxiety. His feet were slipping along the bottom now. Cecil came around in back of him, gripping him under his arms, and gave him a little shove, and suddenly his feet swept off the bottom. 

Carlos thrashed, panic rising in him.

“No, no! You need to relax!” Cecil soothed. “Every muscle. Come on! Let go. Let go, and you’ll see.”

Breathing hard now, Carlos squeezed his eyes shut and forced his body to quit jerking. 

“Trust me,” Cecil whispered in his ear. 

Well, he wasn’t dead yet. Slowly, Carlos relaxed into Cecil’s arms. And then, to his surprise, his entire body started to rise, slowly, out of the water, until he was bobbing like a cork up on top of it. 

He risked opening his eyes. It was a strange sensation. And actually relaxing in a strange sort of way. Letting his head droop back, he stared upwards, at the mysterious ringed planet that always hung up in the sky. It was really lovely up there. 

Carlos felt a light pressure on his chest. “See, you’re doing it,” said Cecil, who was now around his side and not holding onto him at all! Carlos thrashed a bit, but soon righted. “And look, you have a friend!” True to Cecil’s words, Mimidae had ventured out, and had now landed on the top of Carlos’s head, which she was using as a lookout. 

“I’m just an island to you, Mimi?” asked Carlos, who tried looking up, but could only glance a bit of purple wing.

“You should try having a cat some time,” laughed Cecil. “Now, you’ve mastered floating, let’s actually try swimming.”

Cecil patiently showed Carlos a couple of strokes, and Carlos had to admit that swimming was generally relaxing. “You're a good swimmer,” he told Cecil.

“Oh, well, for many years, we had our pirate radio station out on a boat! We were out in the middle of Night Vale Harbor.

“Really?” asked Carlos. “Why did you move?”

“The pizza was really terrible out there,” said Cecil. “And don't even talk about the bowling. There you go! Reach out!” he added. “Oh, and also, there's no water in Night Vale harbor. It was an oversight by the City Council.”

“I need to stop them, Cecil,” said Carlos suddenly. “Strex. Hecate needs to stay as it is.” 

“Of course. We'll figure it out,” Cecil told him. “Now let's try a backstroke.”

 

“Great news, listeners!”

Khoshekh's one eye glared down at Cecil. Obviously, the cat didn't agree with Cecil's assessment of the situation.

Cecil didn't agree with his assessment of the situation.

There was someone outside the booth, waving at him. He grabbed a tape and stuck it into the deck. “And now a word from our sponsor!” he trilled, switching over to the pre-recorded message. He opened his door, sticking his head out into the corridor.

“Is everything ready to go?” asked Mayor Winchell as her assistants crowded around her.

“Yes, Mayor. Only-”

“Only what?”

Cecil bit his lip. “I'm worried for Carlos. He's-”

“You got what we needed from him,” huffed the mayor. “Now it's time for me to disappear into a puff of smoke. Blue smoke, I think,” she added, turning to her assistant.

“It's red smoke, Ma'am,” Trish Hidge, the mayor's assistant, dutifully told her.

“Oh, I hate red.”

“What about, blood orange?”

“Ooo, yes, that sounds fashionable and mysterious!” agreed the Mayor.

“It's still fucking red,” grumbled Cecil.

“Cecil, you were supposed to engage the scientist, and that is all,” the Mayor trilled, heaving her ample bosom. “We can't be responsible for these off-worlders, gadding about, being improbably handsome, and threatening out way of life.”

“His hair is perfect,” sulked Cecil.

“Unnatural, if you ask me,” said the mayor. “Now, I must disappear. Poof!”

One of the assistants was a little late in blowing out the red – no blood orange – smoke, which caused the mayor to glare down her opera glasses at him. And then, just like that, she was gone.

And Cecil was left alone, listening to an Arby's commercial, consumed in worry.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter after the last chapter and before the next chapter.

“Big Rico wants to thank the Wurlitzer Bros. traveling circus for creative use of their pizzas in the flying trapeze act. Remember, no one does a slice like Big Rico's. No one!”

Cecil grinned and shooed Khoshekh away from his coffee cup. “Not ‘til you’re older,” he whispered to the feline off-mike. “And a reminder, listeners: the City Council has made bowling leagues now mandatory for all able-bodied citizens over 21 years of age, and also mandatory for all school children, all disabled citizens, all non-citizens, all supernatural entities, all Looming Presences, and everybody else we haven’t quite thought of yet. Please meet at the Darkside of Hecate Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex, and Teddy Williams urges you to please remember your bowling shoe size. Remember, it’s not fun until all the pins are knocked down!”

“Listeners, I have a question. If I might interject here, I was wondering: let's take the hypothetical situation that you are currently dating someone. Let's say, just for an example, that it is an extremely handsome scientist from another world, and that your last date, a delightful picnic by the shore, ended with a bit of frolicking amongst the fried chicken and potato salad. Now, in this situation, when would it be appropriate for the _other party_ to call and arrange the next date? Oh, look here, the board is already lighting up.”

_“Hey Cecil, this is Earl Harlan,”_ came a voice. “ _Holy shit, you mean, right on the picnic table? And, wasn't that uncomfortable-?”_

 

“Gasket!”

Carlos flinched. He had just returned from a run taking scientific readings. Since he hadn't been accompanied by Cecil this time (he hadn't had time to meet with the radio host since their eventful picnic lunch a few days prior), he hadn't gotten a ride back on the hoverbike. Instead, he had just stepped out of one of the great glass elevators that ran up and down to the outpost. As he was terrified of the heights, he had been listening to Cecil's broadcast during the ascent in order to distract himself. Cecil's voice soothed him as nothing else. However, he had become so distracted listening to the awfully familiar-sounding scenario, not to mention thinking about his garden and the coming “decontamination,” that he hadn't noticed Col. Mustard and a small retinue of his advisors and hangers on were standing around nearby in the corridor, apparently waiting for him. He pulled out his earpods and turned to face them.

“It's Ortega y Gasset,” he answered, feeling a bit snappish. “I'd appreciate it if you'd at least call me by my proper name.”

Col. Mustard paused, his mouth hanging open. “It's no matter, Gasket.”

“Yes it matters,” Carlos insisted. “It's my damned name.”

The colonel paused once again, looking around at his aides, who were too stunned to offer much in the way of a retort.

“Er, yes. Well. Gasset.”

_“Ortega_ ,” corrected Carlos, crossing his arms. He could feel Mimi fluttering in his breast pocket, as if cautioning him to be more polite, but he ignored her. 

The colonel appeared completely discombobulated, but pressed on. “Yes, _Ortega_. I've heard you're still bringing in new samples.”

“The Dark Side is heavily populated, Colonel. In my experience, I have rarely seen such rich ecological diversity. I think we've barely scratched the surface of this biosphere-”

“Well, scratch harder. You have a week.”

Now Carlos was the one thrown for a loop. He hadn’t heard of any looming deadline. “I'm sorry – a week?” he choked.

“Yes, a week.”

This was utterly ridiculous! “A full year wouldn't be enough. Colonel-”

“A week is what you have, and that's it. We need to proceed with the decontamination. We have the condos coming in from StrexCorp headquarters soon, we need to get them moved down here.”

“Condos?”

“Shake a leg! And look smart!” babbled the Colonel, who executed an about face and marched off, his retinue – with a couple of confused looks back at Carlos – hurrying along behind him.

Carlos shook his head and stuck in his earpods, eager to get back to Cecil's show.

“Would you like to see one?”

Carlos flinched again. He hadn't noticed that one person from Col. Mustard's retinue had remained behind: Kevin. He was still wearing that bright smile that didn't quite make it up to his eyes. “I'm sorry, would I like to see one _what_?” Carlos asked, trying not to look like he was squirming away from the disquieting StrexCorp spokesman.

“Why, a condo of course,” Kevin cooed. “We have one here. Wouldn't you like to see it? They're a new habitat, for a new you. A new, more perfect you.”

In his mind, Carlos went through an array of excuses, none of which seemed cogent at the moment. As he was mildly curious about the whole thing, he gave Kevin a grudging nod and proceeded with him through the station, being careful, when Kevin was looking away, to tap his vest to make sure Mimi was still safe in his pocket. She fluttered in response, but remained where she was.

To his surprise, Kevin led him through the restricted area, where he had ventured a few nights ago on his spy mission for Cecil. They even passed the doorway to the room where the samples from his old garden were being stored. He ached to stop there and check on them, but instead continued to follow Kevin, who instead led him to a nearby storage room. This one, oddly enough, was actually locked, as you could tell from the Smiling God banner. Instead of saying “Welcome,” it simply said, “Believe.”

Kevin waved his hand in front of a pad beside the broad door, and it rolled up with a groaning scrape of metal on metal. Kevin strode into the dark interior, Carlos, a little more hesitantly, following behind. There was something in there, although it was difficult to make out in the darkness. It was another dark thing, with smooth lines and sharp corners. 

“What is it?” Carlos asked, his voice echoing inside the metal chamber.

“It's a condo. A new residence for a new way of life!” Kevin enthused.

Being careful to keep a distance between himself and the object, Carlos crouched down and stared at one reflective side. “This is supposed to be … a residence?”

“Why, yes. But more than that!” Kevin's grin shone ear to ear. “This is a way to get in touch with your other self. Your more perfect self.”

“I don't have a perfect self,” Carlos muttered, standing up.

Kevin stood in the darkness, his face in shadows, his eyes two blank, dark sockets. “Oh, now don't talk that way, Carlos. We're all of us perfect.”

“None of us are perfect. That's what makes us _ourselves_ ,” Carlos grumbled.

“Trust me, Carlos.” 

Suddenly, Carlos stared at Kevin, who was now standing with a hand resting on the cool, smooth side of the box. 

“Give it a try,” offered Kevin. 

Carlos hesitated. There was something ominous in the perfection of the thing. On the other hand, just touching the side couldn't hurt, could it? Tentatively, he reached out and brushed his fingers along the impossibly slick side. Quite suddenly, he was no longer there. Or rather, he was still there, but he was also back at university, all at the same time. He was behind the podium in a brightly lit lecture hall, as everyone sat around him, looking on, beaming at him. His old teacher, Master Tyson was there, and even old Master Sagan. They smiled and nodded as, one by one, he presented samples from his expedition to Hecate. These were the twisted remains of the planet, which, he reported, had since been improved, courtesy of StrexCorp Synernist Inc. 

He brought out a sample, pinned to a board. It was a small winged thing that looked like some kind of cross between a bat and a butterfly....

His heart was pounding in his chest. Sweating, he removed his hand from the cube, and the vision faded. He brought his hand to his chest, where Mimidae, who seemed agitated, was fluttering madly. 

Still clutching his chest, he looked at Kevin, who was still smiling. Kevin was always smiling, and would always continue to smile. “I- I need to go catalog my samples,” Carlos muttered, and then he fled, running out of the restricted area, and down a long corridor, and finally, to his room, where he slammed the door shut and stood, breathing hard, his body blocking the doorway.

 

“And a reminder, we have an alien army set to invade our homeland in the near future, laying waste to our fields, robbing us of our way of life, blah blah blah. Well, we all know what to do, don't we?”

Cecil reached over to scratch Khoshekh, who bounded out of the way, hiding underneath the console as Cecil beckoned in his next guest, who, to be fair, took up an awful lot of the booth, as he happened to have five heads.

“I'm welcoming our next guest,” Cecil told his listeners as a couple of the station interns fitted all of the newcomers with a set of headphones. One rather unlucky intern got in the way of some fiery breath, and had his eyebrows scorched off for his troubles. “He's Hiram McDaniels, a candidate for mayor of Night Vale.”

“Dispense with this tomfoolery, you wretched worm,” steamed one of the more ill-tempered heads, as the intern tried to put out the small fire that had started in his hair.

“Now, try and be reasonable, Green Head. Cecil done invited us down to talk with him,” drawled the main head as the unburnt intern retreated from the booth and Khoshekh, from within his hiding place, hissed.

“Yes, Hiram!” enthused Cecil. “And we have many questions to ask you regarding your platform, your stance on city issues, and your endearing quirk of eating several of your campaign officials.”

“That's m'Green Head,” McDaniels confessed. “He gets a little peckish at campaign events.”

“There is no rule in the Night Vale charter concerning dealing with campaign staff,” sniffed McDaniels's officious blue head.

“Thanks, Blue!” noted the main head. “Now, about the issue of them StrexCorp scoundrels, I have a five point plan....”

“If you would allow me, Mr. McDaniels,” said Cecil, calmly steering the direction in an interview-ly fashion. “Might I start off with a sort of … personal question first?”

“We have not time for these petty concerns,” thundered Green Head.

“You go right on ahead,” stated the main head, which also gave Green Head a smack for good measure.

“So, let's say, hypothetically, that you have been dating a person for a period of time, let's just say, it's a rather handsome scientist. And let's also say that you just had a rather close encounter with this purely hypothetical person on the last date...?”

“Can you please specify what you are talking about?” inquired Blue Head.

“Well,” hedged Cecil, “I don't want to give away too much, but it involved a picnic table, a lake, and very few items of clothing.”

“You're out skinny dippin' with Mr. Square-Jawed?” asked the main head.

“At what point should the other person then get in contact to arrange another date?” Cecil wondered.

“He hasn't called?” sobbed Grey Head, who soon dissolved into tears. 

“Smite him!” hissed the Purple Head. “Kill him with fire.”

“Now, buck up, Grey, and settle down, Purple,” answered the main head. 

 

Cringing, Carlos removed his earpods. “You're staying here in my room,” he told Mimidae, who fluttered her wings in protest. He had gotten accustomed to her communication style. He idly wondered if the creatures used wings to signal each other in nature? 

“No, don't even try to argue, it's going to be quite dangerous out there.” He stepped back as the nymph suddenly flew into his face, definitely begging to differ. 

“Stay here, Mimi,” said Carlos, “and I will be back soon.” He pointed to her small box on the shelf, where she flew and, with a final glare, slammed the lid. He grabbed his equipment and hurried out of his room, being certain to close and lock the door behind him. And then he strode down the corridor towards the elevators, dodging and ducking to avoid the working men with their “decontamination” equipment. Even Trurl and Klapaucius had been dragooned into the squad, it appeared, as they hailed him as he passed.

“Goin' to take your readings now?” asked Trurl, stooping down to be at more or less eye level with Carlos. “It's a little last minute!”

“Uh, yes, just wanted to get in my last opportunity,” Carlos hedged.

“Be quick about it,” warned Klapaucius. “There's not gonna be much left after we're done!” He fired up a flamethrower, which nearly immolated Trurl. “We gotta make way for the condos!”

“Uh, yes, I'll be quick.”

“You're able to get into the suit?” asked Klapaucius, while Trurl ran around trying to stamp out the fire that had started on his pants.

“It won’t be a problem,” Carlos told them. For once, he wasn’t lying. He didn’t even plan on donning the suit. He hurried away from them, towards the glass elevators that drifted down, dreamlike, towards the planet’s surface.

He boarded the elevator, surprised to see that he was all alone. The others, he guessed, would be taking transports down to the planet's surface. Nervously, he entered the elevator car, retreating to the very back wall, pressing up against it, and trying not to think about the ground so very, very far below. He tried to distract himself with thoughts of Cecil. He had been puzzled by the radio broadcast: certainly, Cecil was aware that Carlos had been unable to meet him after their eventful picnic by the lake? In truth, he had thought of almost nothing else in the days since. How he longed to be back with him, caressing that soft skin.

The elevator jerked, and Carlos nearly jumped out of his skin. But he realized that they had already reached the bottom. He fled the elevators as soon as the doors opened, making for the airlock. The way was festooned with signs impugning all personnel to don isolation suits before exiting the base. Carlos shook his head and barreled on through the gate. Enjoying the fresh air and exotic smells, he looked around for the item that Cecil has promised to leave for him the last time they had spoken.

There it was, hidden in the bushes: a hoverbike. Carlos quickly cleared away the brush that was draped over it. He hesitated a moment before hopping on: it wasn’t as large or fancy as Cecil’s bike, but he had only had one lesson on driving, and Cecil had been sitting right behind him at the time, gently talking him through it.

Suddenly there was a roar overhead. The transports were leaving the base, headed for Night Vale. With a look of determination, Carlos mounted the bike. Now, what did he need to do? Oh, yes, a kick start. Gritting his teeth, he stomped on a pedal, and to his surprise and delight, the bike roared to life beneath him. All right, this should actually be easy: he only needed to twist the handles to stop and go. His thoughts drifted to how good Cecil always looked when he rode. The radio host made it look easy! He would be terribly impressed when Carlos rode up.

As the broad shadow of a transport loomed overhead, Carlos leaned forward and gripped the handlebars. Grinning, he flicked his wrist….

…And ran right backwards, into a tree.

He picked himself up, cursing and bleeding. He had fallen into the bushes, so fortunately his biggest injury was his pride. The bike seemed all right as well, although the tree trunk hadn’t fared so well. He examined the tree and noticed, to his surprise, that the plant was already repairing itself. It was highly scientifically interesting, but he hadn’t the time to investigate further right now. Perhaps some time in the future, he could bring Cecil along to perform scientific tests on the trees. That would be neat!

He pulled the bike free of the tree. There was a rustling, and then a noise that sounded suspiciously like cursing coming from the shaking leaves. And then Carlos was smacked square in the head by a branch.

“Ouch!” he declared, scowling at the tree, which rustled in a satisfied manner.

After a couple more spills, several near misses, and many minor misadventures, Carlos finally arrived at the edge of Night Vale. His blood chilled when he saw the large transport with the StrexCorp logo parked just outside of town. But no one appeared to be around, and the town was quiet. 

He pointed the bike towards the Darkside Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex, the place he knew Cecil was currently broadcasting from. And also, they had beer there. He was relieved to see a familiar face outside as he approached the building. He was so excited, in fact, that he stalled the bike and, for the umpteenth time, toppled off.

As it happened, he toppled right into Cecil’s arms. “Well hello!” said Cecil as Carlos, blushing furiously, tried to stand upright. 

“Uh, sorry,” Carlos muttered. 

Cecil was still holding onto him. “No problem. It’s rather nice,” Cecil told him.

“Uh, really?” asked Carlos. His face was inches from Cecil’s.

“Really,” Cecil assured him.

“I was just out in the trees,” Carlos babbled. “You need to come test trees with me some time.”

“Oh, do science with you, dear Carlos? Like, a date? That would be neat.”

Carlos blushed some more, and then decided to kiss Cecil, because, why not? “Of course another date, Cecil. Why, scientifically speaking-”

“Whoa!” came a very familiar voice. Carlos suddenly stepped back. 

“You’re not sleepin’ with the enemy here are you, Carlos?” asked Klapaucius as Trurl stooped down and finished his plastic cup of beer.

“We need you for the fight!” added Trurl.

“Oh, uh, er,” Carlos stammered, as he was rather unprepared to encounter any StrexCorp workers down in Night Vale. Weren’t they supposed to be decontaminating the planet?

“He’s playing for our team,” Cecil assured him. “I have a uniform for him.”

Carlos winced, wondering if StrexCorp was going to execute him now or later, but Trurl and Klapaucius simply chuckled and filed inside the bowling alley. “You coming, Cecil?” Klapaucius asked.

“We’ll be right in.”

“Cecil, what’s happening?” Carlos whispered.

“See for yourself!” laughed Cecil, taking his hand and leading him inside. Carlos gasped at the sight: the alley was packed with people. It seemed all of Night Vale had turned out, and along with them, dozens upon dozens of men and women wearing StrexCorp uniforms. Everywhere, isolation suits were scattered, hanging here and there, and all were happily drinking plastic cups of beer and taking their turns bowling a set.

“Hello, Carlos dear,” said Old Woman Josie, who was holding something. “I’m so glad you’re here. I stayed up all night embroidering this for you.” Carlos took the item from her: it was a Night Vale bowling shirt, including his name lovingly stitched over the pocket.

“I hope it fits,” said Josie, eyes wide behind her thick glasses. “The angels helped me with the stitching.”

Although he was now terribly confused, Carlos donned the shirt over his T-shirt. 

“Oh, it’s just perfectly,” Josie clucked, picking at an invisible threat on his lapels. 

“Yes, that shirt fits you very well,” Cecil agreed, tugging at Carlos's lapels.

“Cecil, what’s going on?”

“We’re having a bowling tournament, of course!” Cecil's words were answered by the sounds of rolling bowling balls striking pins, and many cheers from the happy crowd.

“But….” For not the first time, Carlos was at a loss for words. “But these people were supposed to be sterilizing the planet.”

“You can’t bowl on a sterilized planet. And we have better beer than Strex!”

“That’s really all it took?” asked Carlos.

“Come on, Gasket!” urged a voice. “Look smart!”

“Colonel Mustard?” asked Carlos, as his commanding officer strode up, spilling beer.

“It’s _Ortega_ ,” Cecil corrected, as Carlos flashed a grateful smile at him.

“Yes, yes, Ortega,” agreed the colonel. “Let’s get you bowling a frame. Can’t let these Night Vale wankers win it all.”

“I’m bowling for Night Vale!” Carlos announced, straightening up with great pride to display his new shirt.

“Hmpf!” Col. Mustard harrumphed. “We’ll see about that, Gasket. Er, Ortega.” He marched off to procure more beer.

Carlos ended up bowling a few frames. He was a fairly mediocre bowler, as it turned out. But he passed most of the evening sitting next to Cecil, his hand on Cecil’s knee while they drank beer and watched the townspeople and the StrexCorp personnel wage an epic bowling battle. 

At one point, Trurl and Klaupacius sat down near him. Or rather, they fell down approximately where he was sitting, Trurl curled around a bench and Klaupacius on the floor, resting on his ample ass. 

“I don't understand,” said Carlos. “How did this happen? You were supposed to sterilize the planet.”

“Oh it's Trurl's fault,” Klaupacius volunteered.

“It's my fault,” Trurl cheerily agreed.

“What happened?” Carlos prompted.

“I tore my suit!” Trurl told him. He wriggled around and hugged his knees. “Fell right on my head and tore out the knees.”

“He tripped over a tree.”

“It tripped me!” said Trurl, sipping a beer and ending up spilling half of it down his pointed chin. “Just reached up a root and tripped me.”

“I can believe that,” Carlos told them, having already tangled with a tree.

“So, anyways, I took the suit off, because why not, since I'd have to go through decontamination anyway, and frankly, those suits suck. But then.... Well, I really can't explain it. It was something about the soft breeze through my hair, and the fresh smells in the air, smells like on my home world. It was a very different place you know. Very low gravity, so you had a feeling of being free, like you could float off. Not like this world so much, but it was a nice smell, and a nice feeling. And I said to Klaupacius, I said....”

“Try taking off your suit!” his friend hurried to fill in. “And I knew what he meant, all of a sudden. Didn't wanna decontaminate any more. I have sensitive skin.”

“And then a fellow, this Teddy Williams guy, comes and stick a bowling ball in my hand and says to us, ‘We're having a tournament, right down the road!’ Well, I mean, we'd come to destroy his town, and his way of life, so I thought it was pretty darned nice of him to invite us along.”

Carlos had to agree on that point. 

“And then we met up here, and it looked like everyone else had come to the same conclusions.”

“Everyone,” Carlos asked, “got tangled in the trees?”

And then Josie was at his side. “Carlos, the angels have asked me where your companion is tonight?”

“Oh,” said Carlos. “You know, I left her at the base. I thought it would be dangerous here. It's a pity, I bet she'd really enjoy it.”

“You could go back,” said Trurl.

“You could totally go back,” agreed Klapaucius. “There's no one there. We're all here bowling. So....”

“No decontamination shower!” laughed Trurl.

It sounded like a really good idea, at least until Carlos found his way out to his borrowed hoverbike and had to bid Cecil goodbye. “I'll be back really soon,” Carlos promised.

“Are you certain you don't want me to come with you?”

“No, it will be quicker this way,” Carlos assured him. 

“You'll hurry back?”

“I'll hurry back,” Carlos chuckled. He kicked the bike to life, and uttered a silent prayer that it would start up in front of Cecil. He didn't want to look like a complete dipshit in front of his boyfriend. If, in fact, Cecil was his boyfriend. They would have to discuss this and many things, like more swimming lessons and tests on scientifically interesting trees, when he got back.

Carlos put the bike in gear, and it stalled. His dark skin flushed quite crimson.

Cecil leaned over and kickstarted it again. And then he leaned even closer. “You're adorable when you blush,” he whispered. He had a very ridiculous smile on his face.

“Do I look as silly as you look?” Carlos asked.

“Probably,” said Cecil, flicking a piece of stray hair out of Carlos's face. “See you soon?”

Carlos nodded, and then took off, just a little bit faster than he had anticipated, although he hoped he looked at least more competent than when he had ridden into Night Vale. He felt light and free, and it wasn't just being out of the isolation suit. The memory of Cecil's smile stayed with him all the way back to the base. 

He decided to go ahead and ride the hoverbike all the way back to the landing platform. After all, he had seen Cecil do it, and if he was going up, he didn't have go look down. He tried to remember Cecil's smile, and Cecil's voice, and Cecil's warm touch as he ascended, feeling the cold wind on his face. 

The station, as Trurl and Klaupacius had told him, was deserted. Most of the lights were off, which made it a little spooky. He listened to his own footsteps echoing as he walked down the corridor towards his quarters. 

He stopped dead in the middle of the hall. 

The door to his quarters was ajar.

Carlos ran to his room. “Mimi!” he shouted. But her little box was gone, and though he rushed around the room, searching here and there, the little nymph was gone.

“Searching, but never finding,” came a voice over the PA. Kevin's voice. Carlos tore out of the room, scanning up and down the empty corridor. “That is the fate of your imperfect self.” Though he generally tried to avoid Kevin, he had a vague idea where the broadcast booth was located. He knew it was on the upper floor. 

“You will never locate what you seek, until you search within,” the ghostly voice droned as Carlos took the stairs two at a time. He arrived, panting, on the topmost floor of the base, and tried not to look down over the railing. “Come and become one with the Smiling God, friend. Come to a place where you will never be lost or lonely or afraid. Come and join us. Come, and try a condo.”

Carlos burst into the broadcasting booth, only to find it empty. 

“Come and finally achieve perfection, your own perfect self.

“The condos have arrived. Finally, the condos have arrived!”

He stormed back out of the booth, cringing at the sight of the ground below, visible right over the low barrier. He looked around. There was a line of metal rungs, forming a sort of ladder, reaching up to the roof. Putting a hand over his eyes and squinting into the light from the binary suns, he was certain he saw movement up there. Cursing, he closed his eyes and, trying is best to stifle his fear, reached for a rung and began to climb, hand over hand, until at last his hand found purchase on the roof. Sweating and grateful, he crawled up onto the roof and sat for a moment, sweating.

“But why be afraid, Carlos?”

The voice was no longer distant. Kevin was standing over him, smiling, as he was always smiling. Behind him, taking up much of the rest of the space on the small platform, was a large black cube. A condo. But it was no longer inert, like the one he had seen before in the storage space: this one seemed to pulse with a kind of malevolent energy. Carlos glanced back over at the ladder he had just ascended, intending to flee, but then he saw a familiar item.

It was Mimi’s box. He dove for it, tears of gratitude in his eyes, and tore it open. “Mimi!” he shouted. But his tears turned to sorrow at the sight inside, for instead of the fluttering purple wings, he saw a lifeless husk of something that used to be alive – so alive.

Desperately, he reached into the box and with shaking hands retrieved the little, lifeless body, which he held, cradled to his chest. 

“Why are you afraid, Carlos?” cooed Kevin.

“You murdered her, you fucking asshole!” Carlos screamed, his voice harsh.

“I?” asked Kevin, his smile smooth and silvery. “Was I the one who tore her away from her flock, her family? I the one who trapped her in a pack, and secreted her away to the base, where she is forbidden? I the one who left her, alone, unattended?”

Carlos was on his knees, sobbing. He felt the black cube that was the condo throbbing, looming over him with a kind of dark energy. He held Mimi’s fragile body to him, close to his heart.

“It doesn’t need to be that way,” soothed Kevin. “There is a place where all your fears and heartaches will drift away. Become one. Become perfect.” Kevin was crouching nearby, holding his hand, and Carlos found he hadn’t the strength to tear away. The condo loomed near. It was swelling up, increasing in size, almost as if it was growing from Carlos’s pain. 

“See the future. Your perfect future,” whispered Kevin, gently guiding Carlos’s hand to touch the smooth, welcoming surface of the condo. 

Purple wings fluttered in the blue sky. Mimi purred and landed on his shoulder. Carlos gripped the lectern and turned to address his audience. He had so many findings to discuss. He scanned the crowd. There was Master Sagan there, smiling and nodding, and Master Tyson looking proud. And there was his mother, and the women from his village, all dressed up and beaming. Even Trurl and Klaupacius had come. But….

There was also an empty chair. He hadn’t noticed it before. Not in the front row, but a few rows back. Someone should have been there. But who?

“Go on with your lecture, Carlos,” urged Dr. Tyson, in a voice that wasn’t his. It was too smooth.

Carlos shuffled through his notes. Who was in the empty seat? Mimi fluttered impatiently on his shoulder.

_“Carlos.”_

Carlos jerked at the sound of the voice. He was kneeling on a tall platform, huddled against the wind, cradling the wispy body of a dead creature. “That wasn’t real!” he hollered. But there was no one to hear him. Kevin was gone. There was only the condo. It had grown bigger – much bigger. It crowded the entire platform now, cutting off his access to the metal rungs of the ladder, way over on the other side. 

It was slowly surging towards him now, growing, pushing forwards.

“No!” said Carlos, edging back. “No, you’re not real! You’re not real!”

His foot found the edge of the platform, and he nearly stumbled off. Now terrified, he curled his body protectively around all that was left of Mimi as the condo ebbed forward, coming to engulf him.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

And then he stepped backwards.

Off the platform.

And into the void.


	4. Chapter 4

Lean back and have a stretch, listeners. How are you? Are you doing well?

Relax and listen to the sound of my voice. 

The author needed to step out for a moment. But all is well. I am here with you.

Do you care what happens to the characters? The handsome young scientist, and the poor, dead alien creature? It’s strange, isn’t it, as they’re only shadows on a page. And not even a real page: they’re merely electrons buzzing through the great void.

Do you _not_ care what happens next? Then the author, sadly, has failed. But it’s all right: there are many more stories in the world. Some of them are compelling, some are not.

People often ask me, how is it you seem to know about everything? There you are, stuck in your booth. It doesn’t seem that a radio host should have such omniscience!

They also often ask me, what is the topping on that pizza, and why is it crawling like that? Wait, there’s more of them! Stop! For God’s sake, stop! And then they tend to run away, screaming.

Would you like to hear more? I don’t mean, literally, “hear,” as obviously this is the written word. There are other things you could be doing: compiling a grocery list. There are dust balls collecting under your couch. As well as … other things. And you’ve always wanted to trek to Tibet: you saw that compelling Powerpoint presentation at lunchtime a few weeks back. That one poor person got terrible altitude sickness, but otherwise, it looked fun.

Or you can look ahead. The author promised you three chapters, but we’ve obviously gone beyond that. Do you feel betrayed? Upset?

Perhaps you should write your own conclusion here. I think I’ll go do that right now. Maybe I’ll insert a mysterious masked army, coming to save the day. Or to ruin everything we have loved. And time travel. Paradoxes are always interesting, aren’t they? Perhaps, while we’re at it, we could rewrite the beginning of the story as well. This fiction may not be what it should be. Do you think it could be more perfect? Somewhere, underneath all of this, there is a perfect kernel of a story, something that links back through the eternal engrams, and connects with you, your thoughts and desires. 

Connects you with the Smiling God.

Is it time for something more perfect now?


	5. Chapter 5

Carlos fell and fell, wind rushing by, tears falling freely, praying that it – his death – would be quick. In a moment more, in seconds more, gravity would do its work. The force on his body would be strong, probably shattering bones and bursting organs. All that was him – all that had been him – burst like a balloon on the unforgiving planet’s surface. A lonely death here, so far from home, and all he had known.

There was a sudden roar, like the revving of a familiar engine, and his body impacted. But by some miracle, the force was much lighter, like falling out of bed.

“Oof!” said Carlos, as the wind had been knocked out of him, and he was momentarily incapable of saying much more.

“Hang on!” yelled Cecil, who was trying to steer his hoverbike out of a precipitous dive with Carlos in his lap.

“Cecil?”

“You really wanted to get out of calling me back after that last date, didn’t you?”

“Cecil, no!”

The bike’s engine howled in protest, Carlos nestled close to Cecil, and suddenly they were at ground level, skimming along at great speed while Cecil desperately tried to remain in control. The ground flew by and then, miraculously, slowed and slowed, and then with a jerk, they came to rest in a clump of bushes, Cecil breathing hard, Carlos too stunned to move from Cecil’s arms.

“Cecil-“

“Sorry,” Cecil babbled. “I’m sorry I took so long: I had to make sure I was going at the right speed to catch you so didn’t go splat.” 

“Cecil,” said Carlos, who had begun to get over his shock, and was now awkwardly slipping off the bike. “I thought Kevin had me. He was there. With a condo-“

“Yes, the condos have begun to appear.”

“No!” said Carlos, remembering the feeling. “We have to stop them. We have to stop Kevin!”

“Oh no, what’s this?” asked Cecil, who had dismounted as well and was now pointing at the object Carlos still cradled to his chest. 

Carlos sadly held out Mimidae’s remains. “Mimi. Cecil, she-“

“We’ve got to get back! We’ve got to get back to Josie, right now. Get on! Quickly!”

Cecil had already leapt back on the bike, and, still holding onto Mimi, Carlos mounted the back just as Cecil gunned it. As they approached the town Carlos looked around and noticed that the faceless black cubes were now popping up, here and there, around Night Vale. There were several curious townspeople now gathered around some of them.

Carlos shuddered. They still radiated that strange, malevolent energy, and it seemed to be getting stronger.

And accompanying them….

“Invest your life in condos,” intoned Kevin’s smooth voice. “No more worries. Come, see a more perfect you. It’s all laid out before you.”

“How is he broadcasting?” shouted Carlos above the engine’s roar.

“He’s not,” said Cecil. “He’s not on the radio. He’s everywhere!”

“Everywhere?”

“Yeah. Pretty neat trick, huh?” 

Cecil seemed honestly impressed. But he didn’t slow. He pressed onwards, and literally didn’t stop until he was actually through the doorway and inside the bowling alley, which upset a few of the bowlers inside, as well as several cups of beer. There were fewer people in the Darkside Flower now. Carlos thought that perhaps many of them had been lured by Kevin’s velvety smooth entreaties to the outside, to the condos.

“Josie!” Cecil hollered as he lurched to a halt. 

The ancient woman was still there, knitting a very, very long scarf. “What is it, dear? You’re so upset.”

“Show her!” Cecil told Carlos, who was picking his way off the bike. Carlos stood dumbly for a moment, and then, finally, held out Mimidae for her to see.

“Oh, goodness,” said Josie, squinting through her thick glasses. She took the body in her hands. “She’s almost ready. But we must find a tree!”

“Come on!” said Cecil, who literally picked up Josie and tossed her onto the back of his hoverbike. “Follow us, Carlos!” he yelled as he gunned the bike and hurtled back out of the bowling alley.

“Cecil!” Carlos yelled after his retreating form. Shouting his apologies as he retraced Cecil’s path back out of the bowling alley, he stumbled outside, and then ran towards the retreating sound of the bike. He ran through the town’s main street, passing Trurl and Klapaucius, who were huddled around one of the black condos. “Stay away from that!” he yelled as he passed by. “Don’t listen to Kevin!”

“Why?” asked Klapaucius, waving a beer at him. Trurl only stared at the black cube. But Carlos didn’t stop. He saw Cecil up ahead turning into one of Night Vale’s parks. He hurried down the road and into the park, arriving, sweating and out of breath, just in time to see Josie walking over to one of the trees, offering up Mimidae’s still body.

The branches curled down and lifted up the body of the little nymph.

“I really need … to study … your trees,” huffed Carlos, as he ran up beside Cecil.

Cecil put out an arm, keeping Carlos back. “You might want to keep your distance,” he warned.

“What?” asked Carlos. While Josie stood motionless, there was a crackle of electricity, and then there was a sudden flash of light, and the entire tree seemed to burst into a hot, white flame. Carlos grabbed Cecil and threw him down to the ground, shielding him with his body as the explosion rocked the park.

“My dear Carlos,” said Cecil, who was grinning. “Pleasant as this is, you might want to get up to see.”

Carlos scrambled to get off of Cecil, who leapt to his feet and grabbed Carlos by the hands, hauling him up too. And then, as they stood, arm in arm, there was a great fizzle, as, up above the tree, a new celestial being stretched out its majestic purple wings for the very first time.

“Is she….” Carlos babbled. The face was somehow familiar. “Mimi?” he asked.

“Her real name is Erika,” Old Woman Josie told him. She was still standing in the exact same spot, beaming. “But she doesn’t mind if you call her that.”

The angel swept downwards, nearing Carlos, tenderly holding his face in her soft hands. “Mimi?” he managed to whisper.

She gently kissed his forehead, and Carlos felt the tears fall. “I thought I’d lost you,” he murmured.

But the angel was already speeding away, up to the blue sky under the twin suns, where several other beings of light and energy had already begun to gather. They swarmed together, and then all sped off – off towards the StrexCorp base, towering up in the sky.

“I really need to study those trees,” muttered Carlos.

“We need to get to people in those condos,” said Cecil. “Can you help?”

“Yes!” said Carlos. “I saw some people I know on the way here.”

“Show me. I’ll drop you off,” said Cecil, who had already hopped up on his bike and was impatiently revving it.

Carlos jumped back on and, putting his arms around Cecil’s waist, leaned forward to give him a kiss. “We don’t have time for that now,” Cecil laughed as they surged forward.

“Later?” Carlos whispered.

“Are you asking me on a date?” Cecil asked.

“Tonight?” 

“All right.”

“Tomorrow?”

Cecil laughed. “All right. Tommorrow too.”

“Forever?”

Cecil nearly ditched the bike. “Uhhhh…..”

“Right here!” Carlos told him as they approached where he’d see Trurl and Klapaucius noodling around the condo. 

Cecil screeched to a halt, and Carlos hopped off the back. He could see Klapaucius still standing outside, but not his partner. And then he saw the long figure of Trurl, floating inside the black cube. “We need to get him out.”

“Hurry!” urged Cecil, who sped off.

“Trurl!” Carlos cried. “How long has he been gone?” he asked Klapaucius, who was steadfast near the cube.

“He touched the box. I didn’t wanna do it. It seems creepy. But he said he remembered being home, and how floaty it all was. But then he just started … floating.”

“Trurl!” yelled Carlos. But the man didn't respond. “I’ll have to go in after him,” he told Klapaucius. “Wait here.” He steeled himself, and then entered the condo, hoping that he would be wise to its tricks this time. 

He found himself back before the lectern, but this time, there was no one in the audience in the vast lecture hall. His papers blew away from the stand. 

Suddenly, Cecil was there, crouching down to retrieve his papers. “You need to get out of here quickly, Carlos. The angels are going to destroy your base. You don’t want to be in here when it happens.”

“Why not?” asked Carlos. “What will happen?”

“Well, I don’t really know. It could be that all your dinner reservations will be canceled. Or you could disappear forever.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” said Carlos. Cecil nodded and returned his papers, and then promptly disappeared himself.

Mimi, in her nymph form, came and fluttered to his shoulder. “We’ve got to find Trurl,” he told her. He turned and hopped off the stand, and walked up the stairs to find the outside of the empty lecture hall. He walked through the doorway and found himself on a high, narrow platform. Trurl was off in the distance, across a narrow, rickety bridge that spanned a vast chasm. 

“Trurl!” yelled Carlos.

“I’m home!” the workman shouted back. He turned to Carlos and smiled. For once, he wasn’t hunched over, but stood tall. “I’m not too tall any more. I’m perfect!”

“Trurl,” shouted Carlos. “This isn’t real.” Mimi was fluttering on his shoulder, agitated.

“I like this place,” said Trurl. He seemed a bit out of it.

“Trurl, you’ve got to-“ Carlos froze. He had stepped forward, right to the edge of the narrow suspension bridge. He hazarded a look down: he did not like what he saw.

“I’ve got to go get him, don’t I?” he asked Mimi. “This is some kind of a test, isn’t it?” She fluttered uncertainly. He gritted his teeth, thinking that this was definitely not his day, and made his way onto the bridge. It swayed and creaked, groaning with his every step. “I’m heading over, Trurl. And I’m not going to be happy when I make it!” he warned.

“Look,” said Trurl, who pointed off in the distance.

Carlos saw angels. They were flying above the StrexCorp base, where they were all gathering, forming a circle.

“Dammit, wait for me!” Carlos yelled at them. He turned back to Trurl, but now it was not just him: Kevin was there, his hand outstretched towards Trurl.

“Come along, and find perfection,” said Kevin.

“No! It’s a trap. This place is an illusion,” Carlos pleaded. He took a deep breath, and then ran the last length of the bridge, while the cables groaned and snapped.

Far away in the distance, there was a low hum coming from the angels.

“Get away from him!” Carlos screamed at Kevin.

Kevin’s smile was wide. His teeth were shiny, almost metallic.

His tongue was thick and pink.

And then Mimi flew into his face. Kevin stumbled back towards the chasm. Carlos leapt on Trurl. The hum from far away grew louder and louder, to a moan, and then a mighty roar.

And another roar – an engine. Carlos stood up, grabbing Trurl by the scruff of the neck, and reached out his hand to grab Cecil’s.

And then … it was like falling upwards.

Carlos tumbled on the grass just as the blast wave rocked the town. He squinted off in the distance: where the StrexCorp base had stood there was now an orange ball of flame. There was a blurbling sound, like bubbling tar. The black condo began to sink into the ground.

Trurl was lying beside him, choking. Klapaucius was there, hovering over him. “You’re really an asshole, you know?” he said, helping his friend to his feet.

Carlos felt hands underneath his armpits, yanking him to his feet. “Twice in one day! You definitely owe me dinner!” said Cecil.

“You took your bike through the condo?” asked Carlos.

“Yes, it was really cool! I wish you could have seen me.” Together, they watched the StrexCorp base as it was incinerated. 

“Did everyone get out OK?” Carlos asked Cecil.

“Most did,” said Cecil. “A few people got caught. But many more were rescued.”

Carlos thought of something. “So, when you were inside the condo, what did you see?”

Cecil beamed. “Only you.”

“Really?”

“I told you,” said Cecil. “You’re perfect … for me.”

 

The next few days passed swiftly. Night Vale had lost a few citizens on that day, swept away as the condos retreated to wherever they had come from. But it also gained a new population, as the displaced StrexCorp workers, for the most part, decided to make it their new home. As it turned out, no one much liked the decontamination showers, and after all, Night Vale, while it was not perfect, had bowling, nice parks and very decent beer.

Carlos finally had the opportunity to conduct his tests on the trees. They were for the most part, inconclusive, which was disappointing. He also found he missed the presence of Mimi, his small companion. But he was also often accompanied by a lovely female presence with broad purple wings. She would sit in the tree overhead, watching over him, letting her gorgeous wings flutter in the breeze.

And then one day….

“Cecil,” said Carlos, for Cecil had finished his daily broadcast and ridden out to see him, out in nature, performing his tests.

“Yes?”

“There’s a new crop of nymphs, just born, on the other side of the planet.

“How do you know that?”

Carlos looked up from his meters. He gazed up, high into the trees. “I don’t know. But I know.”

“And you want to go take a look?”

“Yes, I want that very badly.”

“All right. How about this weekend?”

“Thank you, Cecil.”

“Hop on!” said Cecil. “It's time for out Tuesday date.”

Carlos set his equipment aside and then climbed up on the bike behind Cecil, who took off.

Cecil thumped one of his paniers. “I thought today we’d have a picnic. I’ve packed a lunch. And then a swim in the lake.”

“Can we have the swim first?” asked Carlos, holding tighter to Cecil.

“I think we can do that,” said Cecil, as Carlos kissed his neck. “That’s distracting, by the way.”

“What about this?” asked Carlos, as he began to unbutton Cecil’s shirt.

“Yes, that’s definitely distracting!”

“And this?” inquired Carlos, as he was now caressing Cecil’s thighs.

“Carlos!” said Cecil, as the bike took a dip.

“Stop the bike,” murmured Carlos, who was also nibbling on Cecil’s ear. “But don’t shut it off.”

“What?” asked Cecil, who had become very, very distracted. He pulled the bike over beneath a shady tree. The tree hummed, but did not stir.

“Umm, like this,” said Carlos, whose hands now seemed to be everywhere.

“You’re terrible,” whispered Cecil.

“I thought I was perfect?”

“That too. Terribly perfect.”

Carlos had a hand underneath Cecil's shirt now, and another nudging under his waistband. Cecil leaned back into him, hooking an arm back around Carlos's neck, savoring the moment. Somehow, after some thrashing and fumbling, he ended up turned around, wearing only one sock, spread out now over the bike, legs draped up over Carlos's shoulders, gasping and calling out his name. 

And then, some time later, they stumbled down to a cool, quiet lake, and swam together.

“And tomorrow, our Wednesday date?” asked Carlos, as he contentedly floated on his back.

“This is getting quite serious,” said Cecil, who was wading beside him. “Are we going to be picking out china patterns soon?”

“I don't know. I have no idea what a china pattern is.”

Cecil drew nearer. “Are we … going steady?”

Carlos laughed. “On one condition!”

“What's that?”

“You don't share any of this on your radio program.”

Cecil thought about it a moment. “Not even-?”

“No.”

Cecil thought some more. He waded over and gave Carlos a kiss. “Well, all right. But you're lucky you're handsome!”

“Can we see what's in your picnic basket? I'm getting hungry.”

And so they pulled towels around themselves, and, shivering in the soft wind, sat on an old blanket by the shore and ate sandwiches with a spicy, tangy flavor and drank sweet wine as they watched the binary suns set. The nearby trees hummed their approval, and high overhead, a graceful being spread out her wings.


End file.
